Power Play
by zebrahater
Summary: Anora and Aedan Cousland's joint rule could usher in a golden age for Ferelden if they don't end up fighting each other. Right, let's see how that turns out. A lot of political maneuvering. Warden/Leliana. First 9 chapters being redone  2 down, 7 left .
1. Chapter 1: Introductions

**A/N: This story will be based on characters I think are realistic for people in their positions. They might not be likeable but I hope you'll find them at least interesting. The plot I have in mind is ambitious, probably overly so, and will follow several plotlines all playing into Ferelden's power struggles. I'm starting this story with full knowledge that it will likely not be finished before DA2 comes out and some things I'll write will certainly be voided by the new canon but so be it…that's why its fanfiction.**

**As far as background any important in-game decisions you'll need to know will be referenced clearly. This chapter picks up after the game in which Aedan Cousland has agreed to be Queen Anora's Prince-Consort.**

**This chapter has been updated.**

Introductions

"Maker's blessings upon you, majordomo." rumbled a voice that held itself just below the threshold of being easy to hear; though it gave an unmistakable impression that it did so unwillingly being far less comfortable with conversation than it was with shouting. A state that it would eagerly enter with the least provocation.

Startled by the address which suddenly sounded from directly behind where he sat hunched over his parchment covered desk Pepin hurriedly calmed himself, pleased that he had managed to avoid jumping in surprise…well, at least avoiding an embarrassingly large jump, his treacherously honest mind corrected. Pasting a smile over his harried expression Pepin took a moment to quickly compose both himself and the stack of papers his sudden start had disturbed before turning to face the voice. Feeling a hand land on his shoulder Pepin halted his move to stand swiveling his head to look up and to his left. Blinking in confusion the majordomo craned his head around further, his flustered state momentarily delaying comprehension of the minor mystery of the invisible speaker until that voice once again spoke; this time from directly over his right shoulder.

"I can see that you are busy, majordomo, so I shall endeavor to not keep you from your labors."

Spinning to face the by now irritatingly evasive speaker Pepin's patience, already frayed by being overworked, snapped, "I'm a little too busy at the moment, man, to deal with…"

Just what the majordomo found so pressing Aedan would never discover as he watched the briefly bold man's jaw clack shut, the little color his pampered skin possessed fleeing his face under the Warden's stare.

"…Oh, my lord I, I apologize for my rudeness. I had not realized that…"

"Think nothing of it, majordomo…Pepin, I believe." Cousland interrupted, his gravelly baritone easily overriding the nervous squeak of the other man's apology.

Relaxing at the friendly look he was receiving from Cousland Pepin did his best to obey the all important court protocol; after all it would never do to give the impression that he, the majordomo, did not know proper courtly behavior. Finding it impossible after several abortive attempts to bow properly while seated, a position the hand on his shoulder forced him to remain in, Pepin contented himself with a deep bob of his head. Having found some semblance of equilibrium in this unexpected conversation Pepin brushed at the wrinkles his failed bowing had produced in an otherwise fastidiously pressed doublet as he addressed the Warden, "How may I be of service, my lord Prince-Consort Cousland?"

Pleased that he had managed to keep the annoyance from his voice, an important skill for one who lived surrounded by his superiors, Pepin regarded the Prince towering over him. The man was every inch the pre-Orlesian occupation archetype of leadership. From the hand scarred by a life of martial activity that rested heavily on the majordomo's shoulder to the broadly built shoulders covered by a sweat stained, brown gambeson still smelling of the training yard the Prince was more similar to an Avvar chieftain than an Orlesian _chevalier_. Silently thanking the Maker for the Orlesian occupation having civilized at least Denerim Pepin waited for the barbarian prince's simple mind to process his question.

"I was wondering what instructions you've had from Anora regarding the seating for our wedding."

Managing not to roll his eyes as the warrior attempted to delve into the complex realm of courtly protocol Pepin wasn't able to keep condescension entirely out of his voice, "Of course, my lord. Queen Anora has followed the standard-"

Vexed as the Prince-Consort interrupted his exposition on proper courtly ceremony Pepin's irritation was immediately forgotten as the Warden's previously restrained voice broke into its accustomed volume, a volume built on the training yards of his father's guards, "Quiet, nug! You think I want to hear about your damn table of ranks?"

Not having time to fully absorb the previous outburst Pepin squeaked as Aedan swept his arm across the paper covered tabletop. "Maker damn you, you'll seat people where I tell you!" Arms frantically reaching for the family trees, heraldry and lists that comprised his life's work and were now flying throughout the room Pepin failed to notice the hands grabbing his doublet.

Finding himself hauled bodily from his chair Pepin stared into the predatory eyes of Ferelden's last Grey Warden as he was suspended in the air by the strong hands clutching, and no doubt ruining, his doublet's fine cloth. Looking on aghast as the civilized veneer fell from the Prince to reveal the barbarian underneath Pepin broke into a cold sweat, reminded of the only other time he had seen the Warden. The man who had been dressed in plate armor, splattered with blood, and swinging a sword at Regent Loghain's head was now focusing the full weight of his displeasure on an unarmed courtier.

Looking desperately at Aedan's eyes for any hint of mercy Pepin knew such a hope was in vain. After all, this was the man who had deliberately lamed and disarmed Loghain before looking into the wounded man's eyes and slowly driving his blade into the Teryn's neck. And even that hadn't sated the brute's rage as his redheaded companion was forced to restrain him from kicking the grieving Queen away from the side of her father's bleeding corpse while he stood triumphantly over the lifeless body.

"B,b..but protocol, the Queen..."stammered the quaking courtier as Aedan shook him about, the tips of the majordomo's toes scrabbling for purchase on the slippery surface of his scattered documents.

The booming, parade ground voice retreating into its previous quiet, non-threatening tone Aedan stopped shaking the beleaguered majordomo about, "So, the Queen already told you about seating arrangement, hmm? In person?"

"No, my lord, her handmaiden, the elf Erlina told me."

"Told you what?"

"Where to seat some exceptions to the normal arrangements." Pepin exclaimed, hoping a reminder of his duties would be a defense from the apparently unstable Prince.

"And were there many exceptions?"

"Why yes, lord Cousland, as a result of the recent…upheavals…there were-"

"I see…" Aedan said deliberately, "so your job is to seat everyone as Erlina tells you to. So, what do we need you for? Erlina could do your job and, what with the recent upheavals, as you call them, the Crown will need to cut expenses; perhaps starting with certain redundant courtiers."

"B,b,but I…"

"Unless, of course, you prove yourself an indispensable functionary by, say, finding an impenetrable justification in these papers," Aedan sneered, "for Bann Alfstanna to be seated next to me."

"But that would be most improper! An unwed woman of marriageable age next to you at your wedding feast? It would be insulting to the Queen. I-I, my lord, I can't possibly do that, Her Majesty must be the only lady-"

"I see. Your devotion to the Queen does you credit, Majordomo." Aedan said, dropping the frantic man back into his forcibly vacated seat before heading for the door.

Hearing the crackle of heavy boots crushing his precious records pause Pepin reluctantly turned to face where the Prince-Consort had halted his exit and now stood staring predatorily at the majordomo. Swallowing heavily the harassed majordomo forced his mouth to move, "My lord Prince-Consort Cousland, is there some other way I may be of service?"

"Not really, Pep, I just have something to tell you." Aedan responded smoothly, eyes glinting at the way the majordomo cringed at the diminutive name.

"Lord?"

"I admire your sense of duty. I've heard about your sister's condition, Pep." The Prince said sadly, "It must be awfully difficult to support both your wife and children _and_ a paralyzed person on a courtier's salary. I can't even imagine how difficult it will become once that courtier is fired, perhaps his house is commandeered by the Wardens, maybe he is even imprisoned on some strangely vague charge…all just in time for winter's deathly chill. To chose such a fate rather than insult the Queen, truly such loyalty and patriotism are what makes Ferelden great."

"I,I understand."

"What do you understand?"

"Uh, that Bann Alfstanna, umm…in view of her recent, uh, long service to the Crown is, um-"

"That's the spirit, man." congratulated the Prince as he strode out of the now disordered room.

* * *

A late fall sun shone over the dockyards doing nothing to dispel the damp chill of sea air. Shivering as they stood exposed on the pier, backs facing the wind whipped wave tops, three figures stared inland at the battle scarred city of Denerim. Jumping as a loudly clanging bell rang out over the dock's omnipresent creaking of wood and rope the three shapes turned away from the city to face the gently rolling bulk of the moored ship.

"Well, I guess this is it, child. Goodbye, may the Maker look kindly upon you."

"And you as well, Wynne. I'm so sorry he isn't here…I told him it was today-"

"It's not your fault, dear. We both know how Aedan can be; always consumed by some great undertaking to the exclusion of all else. Say goodbye to him for us won't you, dear." Enfolding the redheaded bard in a warm embrace Wynne reluctantly pulled away after a moment, "I will miss you, Leliana, I hope-"

"Perhaps if I ever regain a body I too will have squishy bits that make me waste time but right now I am thankfully free of such annoyances." The hulking, stone figure of Shale rumbled from where it stood looking at the ship, "But for now I am more concerned that the ship we should be on is losing the ropes that tie it to land faster than that horrible man who calls itself captain will lose its life should its pet bird come near me."

"Right, of course. Well, let us be on our way then." Wynne muttered, her eyes looking imploringly at the sky, "Maker knows this will be a long journey."

"Goodbye, Shale, and good luck." Leliana giggled.

Watching and occasionally waving until the figures on the departing ship became indistinct Leliana slowly turned away from the sea. Trudging up the hill that led from the docks into the city Leliana made her way for the ruined marketplace; perhaps the Orlesian woman who sold shoes before the battle had set up shop again. She hadn't yesterday or the day before but perhaps today was the day. Encouraged by the prospect of exchanging her heavy, Ferelden boots for something prettier Leliana forced a smile onto her face and quickened her pace towards the market.

Entering the rubble filled square Leliana stopped in surprise as she saw a group of soldiers bearing royal heraldry standing outside Wade and Herren's relatively intact shop. A quick glance telling her the shoe-vendor was nowhere to be found Leliana made her way through the sparse crowd towards the armorer's store. Approaching the soldiers Leliana peered through their formation to find Aedan standing next to Herren and Wade as they all examined something. Shifting to see around the impeding soldier's shield the bard saw the object of all the attention; a suit of tarnished, silver armor resting on a stand.

Spying a gap in the wall of armored men Leliana shook her head at the guards' incompetence as she scurried around the side of a nearby building. Slipping past several fallen beams and over piles of broken rubble the rogue soon found herself at the exit of an alley looking at Aedan's back. Stepping out of the concealing shadows Leliana slinked up to Aedan, "A word, if I may."

Standing still as the three men jumped at the sudden voice, the more keen eared guardsmen also spinning to face her in alarm, Leliana stood looking sternly at Aedan, arms crossed reprovingly below her chest. Resisting the smile tugging at her lips in response to the happiness that immediately spread across Aedan's face Leliana maintained her air of displeasure, "I told you to meet me at the docks this morning. Why weren't you there?"

"Sers, if you'll excuse me for a moment." Aedan said moving towards Leliana without waiting for a reply. Taking the bard by her elbow the Warden steered her into Wade's store as the surprised, and chagrined, guardsmen returned to scanning the surrounding crowd for threats.

"You missed Wynne and Shale's ship."

"I'm sorry but I had to do this." Aedan protested.

"And just what is 'this'."

"I need Wade to fix up that set of armor out there in time for my coronation."

"And why is that, pray tell?" Leliana said, her demeanor not softening at all.

"I'll look just like Calenhad in this Juggernaut armor once its repaired and cleaned. You know how important first impressions are and I want the nobles to see me as the legendary 'Silver Knight's' second coming."

"You and your plans." Leliana said, throwing her hands up in the air, "Is this really so urgent that two people who risked their lives alongside you can't even say farewell to your face."

"Sorry but I'm so busy with other matters that this was really the only chance I had to deal with this matter. Besides, you know how slowly Wade works; I have to give him enough time before the coronation."

"Coronation…you mean the wedding."

Moving closer to the redhead Aedan gently took her hand, "I mean coronation. The wedding is just a formality…we've talked about this, Lelianna."

Giving a responding squeeze before pulling free of his hold Leliana turned and headed for the door, "I know. That's not what is really bothering me, Aedan."

"Look, I'm sorry I missed Shale and Wynne but-"

"But you're busy, I know. I'm going back to the palace. I'll see you tonight and if you don't want your bed to be cold find a pair of shoes for me as penance for your rudeness."

Following Leliana Aedan caught up to her as she opened the door. Leaning close he brushed a strand of hair from her ear, "As you desire, my lady."

Trying to ignore the shivers his promise laden whisper caused Leliana walked past the guardsmen who were doing their best to appear disinterested. Ducking around a corner, her keen ears pricked Leliana smiled at what she heard.

"Wade, Herren, you know that Orlesian who used to be here selling luxury items?"

"I believe you mean Liselle, my lord." The whiny voice of Herren replied.

"Yeah, fine. Do you know where she is now?"

"I…think I've heard she's been staying in a tavern near the docks waiting for an Orlesian ship to arrive so she could restock."

"Ser Denri,"

"My lord." A deep voice answered briskly.

"Take a squad to the docks and find this Liselle. See if she has any Orlesian lady's shoes; if she doesn't find out from her who does and bring them to the palace. Don't bother coming back until you have a selection for me to choose from."

"Yes, my lord."


	2. Chapter 2: Implicit Conversations

**A/N: Just a quick thing I hadn't thought to mention before but a review makes me think is necessary to clarify; Awakenings hasn't happened yet, this is right (as in a matter of days) after Origin's end.**

**As far as Dragon Age lore goes I only have knowledge from in game and whatever a quick wikia check provides. I have not read any of the books or other media out there so if any character's past that I create contradicts some intricacy of canon…tough cookies.**

_**Italics **_**are flashbacks or thoughts.**

**This chapter has been updated.**

Implicit Conversations

Walking slowly along the path that surrounded the palace Anora blinked at the water welling in her eyes. Inwardly cursing as she felt the chill night air brush the suddenly tear dampened skin of her pale cheeks the queen kept her head facing straight ahead into the biting wind and away from the men and women following in her wake. Shivering as the cold of the tin vessel she cradled bit into her fingers Anora closed her eyes against further tears as she remembered the warmth that used to greet her fingers when walking this same path as a girl. Moving confidently along well worn path Anora opened her eyes after she sightlessly turned a familiar corner knowing what sight would greet her. And there, as always, the past hit her.

_Short legs working in a strange gait consisting of two normal steps followed by a long, skipping third step the small, blonde girl scurried to keep up with the tall man striding through the night beside her. Thin arms wrapped around her frame, teeth chattered as the chill crept through the material of her gown the child whined, "Father, I'm cold."_

_ Looking down at the girl the in surprise that quickly gave way to concern the dark haired man frowned at the shivering girl, "I'm sorry, love, I should have thought of how the weather would treat you. Here…" Reaching down to engulf the child's small hands in one of his own well worn paws the man's frown deepened as he felt the icicle like fingers in his hand._

_ "Why are we going to the garden? Can't we just work during the day? We won't even be able to see anything now."_

_ Passing into the walled off garden the pair moved past the rows of cabbages and root vegetables which comprised the decidedly plebeian garden. Reaching the far end of the plot the man sat on the dewed grass beneath an overhanging willow. Motioning for his child to sit he wrapped thick, warm arms around the shivering girl as she climbed into his lap. Kissing the golden hair piled atop the girl's head the man's voice whispered in her ear; reluctant to break the peace that hung over the garden, "This was your mother's favorite time of day. She always liked the silence and the feel of cool grass between her toes."_

_ Pressing herself deeper into the heat coming off her father's body the little girl remained silent as he continued, "It was today thirty-five years ago that I proposed to her. I remember the day perfectly. She looked excited before I even had the chance to say or do anything." Chuckling he looked down at the girl's upturned, curious face, "You got your intelligence from her, daughter. She could always read me and that day was no different. Later you mother teased me saying she knew I was going to propose because it wasn't a holiday and I had cleaned the dirt from under my fingernails."_

_ "Because you were a farmer!"_

_ "That's right. Before I joined Maric, before all…this," he said encircling the palace in one motion, "I was a farmer and your mother the most beautiful cabinet maker's daughter in all of Gwaren. I won her approval not through the fame I now have but through our village's respect for being a hardworking, honest freeholder."_

_ "But you're not a farmer anymore so why do you have this garden?"_

_ "Because your mother loved me when I was just a farmer and as long as I have this I still feel like the man who earned her hand."_

_ "I wish I had known her."_

_ "So do I, sweetheart." Returning his misty gaze to his daughter Loghain shook his head, "Though I admit I'm glad she isn't here to see me freeze you half to death…I'd never be trusted with you again. Come on, Anora, let's get inside where it's warm. We'll come back here to tend the crops whenever I have a moment of time…but don't let me forget to bring a coat for you next time!"_

Moving resolutely past the drawn up ranks of vegetables Anora knelt in front of the modest, wooden altar she had ordered placed in her father's old garden. Struggling to keep her arms from shaking Anora placed the simple, metal urn containing her father's ashes atop the altar; glad to be rid of carrying the physical manifestation of sorrow and hurt.

Using the opportunity of bowing her head in prayer to discreetly wipe her tears away Anora composed herself before standing. Assuming her position next to the altar Anora waited for the small funeral cortege to begin offering its respects. Staring fixedly ahead the queen suppressed the scornful expression that threatened to twist its way across her face as the first group of mourners approached.

Moving with an appropriate sheepishness the surviving members of her father's supposedly loyal guard, Maric's Shield, filed past the altar to pay their respects to the dead man who they had sworn to die defending. Ignoring the occasional pleading eye that flickered in her direction Anora stonily refused to offer any sign that could be misinterpreted as forgiveness.

As the last of the soldiers drifted off a small gaggle of uneasy looking men in tattered clothing hesitantly approached the altar's burden and the queen. Nose twitching as it registered the pungent scent that surrounded the fishermen Anora could only nod her thanks as the smelly, nervous spokesman for the fishermen clumsily expressed condolences from Denerim's community of expatriate Gwaren fishermen.

The insultingly small stream of mourners having dried up as the relieved fishermen followed in the guards' path away from the ashes Anora's enforced calm shattered. Hands flying to her mouth to muffle the sounds betraying her grief Anora stumbled over to the nearby willow tree; shoulders shaking as sobs wracked her body. Waving away Erlina's supporting hands the queen sank onto the soft, cool grass below the willow's drooping branches. Her handmaiden standing uselessly beside her Anora curled up against the tree's rough bark .as if seeking warmth and shelter from the night's cold.

"He saved Ferelden from Orlais" Anora said after what seemed an eternity as anger began burning its way through sadness.

"Yes, my lady." Erlina agreed, knowing her role in this conversation.

"And these are the only people in the entire country who remember that? A group of useless soldiers here to salve their consciences for abandoning their lord and fishermen still stinking of the wharves worried that their lives will now be more difficult with their patron is dead." Silence stretching out as she sat brooding Anora stared at the altar and urn that stood reflecting the moon's soft light. "For the Maker's sake he betrayed my _husband_ and even I can remember and mourn the man he once was. Is it too much to ask for anyone in this nation of ingrates to do the same?"

"No, my lady."

Ignoring her handmaiden Anora's grief fully boiled away under the heat of her anger, "It's because of that damned Cousland brat. Everyone who has anything to lose is scared he'll take revenge on them for mourning my father."

"My lady, I-"

"And they're probably right; that bastard would."

"I hear someone coming." Erlina hissed. Bending down the handmaiden wiped Anora's face of tears and ruined cosmetics before helping the queen stand.

"If it's the Warden come here to gloat I'm going to kill him." Anora muttered. Nearly invisible in their black mourning dresses under the willow's boughs the two women waited.

The sound of footsteps crunching along the path growing louder Anora looked expectantly at the garden's entrance. Finally, amid the rustle of silk and clink of jewelry, a small knot of men and women entered the garden and made their way uncertainly towards the plain urn. Eyebrows twitching in surprise Anora briefly caught Erlina's equally interested look before returning her appraising gaze to the mourners.

Looking closely at the group who were attempted to covertly scan the garden's entrance and any nearby windows for observers while still appearing to pay their respects Anora recognized several of the faces as members of Denerim's burgher council. Noting the merchant's shifting eyes looking intently at anything other than the memorial in front of them, as if the presence of her father's ashes here was somehow a distasteful intrusion, Anora was forced to quell her rapidly rising anger at the ingratitude. These fat merchants, who had once honored her father for accomplishing deeds against the Orlesians with his sword arm that their ink-stained fingers trembled to think of, were now concerned that someone might see them paying respects to that man…and that such an act was an embarrassment to their 'good name'.

Forcing herself to ignore filial instincts Anora considered the presence of the delegation of Denerim's burghers. In contrast to the previous groups of disgraced guards and worried fishermen these men were neither indebted to Loghain's memory nor respectful of his memory. Nodding as comprehension dawned Anora smiled, the unfamiliar expression straining muscles in her cheeks that had weakened from neglect ever since Cailan had left for Ostagar over a year ago. These burghers owed their current prosperity, prosperity evidenced by the tasteless ornaments which were seemingly endemic among Denerim's _noveau riche,_ to the Crown's recent economic policies…her policies. Unlike the minor nobles, soldiers, and admirers who had formed the core of her father's support and were now unwilling to risk the Cousland brat's wrath these cowardly men _were_ willing to risk that association. Smile turning rueful Anora shook her head as she considered the lessons these businessmen represented; feudal obligations, bonds forged in the fires of conflict, sacred oaths, hard won respect…all were ethereal things when compared to self interest.

Stepping forth from her concealing shadows Anora approached the huddled group of jittery burghers. Careful to maintain her air of regal detachment that would inform the merchants that, despite their newly elevated economic circumstances, they were nothing compared with the wealth and majesty of the Crown Anora swept towards the urn. A path hastily opening up for her Anora moved through the bowing group of peacocked nobles. Kneeling before the altar Anora observed a moment of silence, an action the assembled burghers imitated after a brief moment of hesitation.

Holding her position, protocol forcing the burghers to now also remained bowed before Loghain's memorial, Anora waited until the clanking of armor and loud banter heralded the approach of a guard detachment. The normally boisterous soldiers' voices quieting as they saw the unusual sight of in the vegetable garden Anora knew word would soon reach the ears of all interested parties. And, if the ever more nervous rustling of expensive cloth from behind her was any indication, the burghers also knew it. The patrol having past Anora stood, indicating that the kneeling merchants could also stand.

Motioning towards a nearby gateway Anora addressed the richest dressed burgher, recognizing him from a recent court session as Denerim's, and therefore Ferelden's, richest member of the third estate and presumably the informal leader of this delegation, "Cromarty, I appreciate your presence here at my father's modest resting place."

"I only regret, Your Majesty, that we have failed to get here in time for the service itself. Please, forgive us our rudeness."

"There is nothing to forgive, good Cromarty. Being able to share my grief over my father's passing is of great comfort to me in this time of sadness. It is, after all, only proper to pay respect at least to the Hero of the River Dane, even if not to the Regent." Anora stated kindly, pleased with the burgher's polite avoidance of Loghain's fall from grace, "Come, let us retire to the palace's fire-warmed halls before night's chill becomes unpleasant."

"We are honored by your invitation, my Queen, and, of course, gratefully accept."

Walking towards a nearby gate, the bejeweled merchants trailing behind them, Anora continued to exchange pleasantries with Cromarty and a rather annoyingly effusive burgher who had managed to insert himself in their conversation. Reaching the gate, whose guards hurriedly unbarred the entrance at her approach, Anora swept inside, thankful that the narrow entrance forced the flock of merchants to walk single file therefore placing the irritating burgher Cromarty had introduced as Banff further away from her. After several turns, more than strictly necessary to efficiently reach the particular reception hall she had in mind, Anora led the burghers through the palace's maze like corridors with an air of unwavering direction.

"My Queen," the babbling Banff excitedly began, "I have never been in this part of the palace. Your knowledge of its labyrinthine ways is remarkable. Why, I doubt even the guardsmen know their way around the palace with such deftness!"

"Thank you…Banff," Anora replied easily, the slight hesitation she added before his name bringing a smile to Cromarty's face that the burgher was unable to completely hide.

Noticing the Queen's eyes on him Cromarty hurriedly tryed to paper over any cracks in his facade the unseemly delight he found in Banff's humiliation caused, "Indeed, your majesty, though such might be expected from one as intelligent as yourself and who has spent her adult life as the mistress of this great house."

Nodding her thanks to the man for his compliment Anora chuckled inwardly as her quick eye noted Banff's face briefly cloud with displeasure at Cromarty's words. _Yes merchant, let that be a lesson to you as to why men such as Cromarty are your betters. While you saw only that I know my way through the palace's confusing corridors Cromarty saw the true message…that I have been navigating the center of Ferelden's power for my entire life._

Dismissing the ambitious social climber from her mind now that his fellow burgher had effectively informed him to leave the talking to the adults Anora turned the final corner and led the small group into a warmly lit reception hall. Seating herself in the room's elevated throne Anora motioned for the burghers to make themselves comfortable. Amid much bowing, overly friendly gestures, and backstabbing glares the dozen burghers tried to seat themselves in the four available chairs in a manner according to their positions within Denerim's merchant community. Carefully observing their maneuvering Anora felt the thrill of political gamesmanship, the familiar sensation exciting her as it hadn't been able to since her role in the maneuvering that had resulted in her father's death.

As the burghers finally settled themselves into mutually acceptable positions, the majority not important enough to warrant chairs standing behind the seated merchants, Anora found herself surprised at the social rankings the seating arrangement showed her. Naturally, Cromarty occupied the position of honor in the center-right chair, a venerable, patriarchal merchant Anora vaguely recognized from court receptions as a salt-fish exporter sat to Cormarty's left in the 'second chair'. This was to be expected as Cromarty was the acknowledged leader of Denerim's merchant class while the elderly fellow was incredibly wealthy, if not particularly ambitious at this late stage in his life. No, the surprise was the occupant of the 'third chair'; Banff. Apparently the seemingly inept burgher was far more capable than he appeared at first glance; particularly since the last chair was occupied by a very young looking woman whose position among the 'big four' had been secured through several meaningful glances Banff had exchanged with competing burghers.

"Good burghers of Denerim, it is fortunate that you are here." Anora began once everyone was settled, "I realize that with the recent Blight military matters have absorbed the Crown's attention but now it is time to once again focus on economic growth as our nation begins the process of rebuilding."

"We have full confidence in your leadership, my Queen. Before the Blight it was your policies which strengthened urban production and we know you will continue to demonstrate your proven acumen." Cromarty replied.

"Your confidence inspires me, good Cromarty, and I assure you that I shall do everything in my power to rebuild and even expand Ferelden's trade; both within our borders and without." Anora said, confident Cromarty would comprehend the deeper meaning behind her words.

"Speaking on behalf of Denerim's burgher council let me extend our thanks to you, our Queen, for your continued efforts on behalf of Ferelden's Third Estate. We, the burgher's council, would like to assure you that in our desire to see Ferelden rebuilt we will freely place all our resources at your disposal knowing that such is our duty and, indeed, privilege to strengthen Ferelden as it prepares to face its future." Cromarty exclaimed as he stood from his chair and legged an elegant bow. "We have funds, a network of contacts throughout Thedas, and even some mercenary forces...all of which are at you disposal should any event necessitate their use."

"Your loyalty is inspiring, my faithful subjects and, with your assistance, there will be far less beyond my power than would otherwise be the case." Anora responded, letting her pleasure at the burgher's offer show in her voice. Meeting the meaningful gaze of Cromarty Anora knew they understood each other's insinuations, "I am thankful for your patriotism. As always, I will work to see men such as you, the backbone of Ferelden's economy, strengthened."

* * *

As the congregation of merchants exited the reception room in the wake of Anora's departure a faint blurring of shadows could be seen as a red-haired woman emerged from the flickering shadows cast by the room's many lamps. Darting through the open doorway the slender figure quickly made her away towards the eastern wing of the palace where the palace's prominent guests were being housed in the rooms least damaged by the Darkspawn's depredations.


	3. Chapter 3: Crowns

Crowns

Aedan looked up in annoyance as the door to his study creaked open distracting him from the documents that littered his cluttered workspace. Mouth opening to unleash his displeasure upon the hapless intruder Aedan's harsh expression faded instantaneously into a welcoming smile, "Fergus, come in, come in! It is good to see you…I'm afraid the duties thrust upon me in the aftermath of the Blight have prevented me from spending as much time with you as I would like. Why, I haven't spoken with you since the victory celebration."

Noticing his older brother's pronounced limp as the man slowly made his way across the small room Aedan leapt to his feet hurrying around from behind his desk to clear a large, comfortably padded chair of the reams of parchment that had rested there. "Sit here brother; you look as tired as I feel! Just look at yourself…I've not seen you so pale since your bachelor party nearly a decade ago." Aedan exclaimed, laughter coloring his voice.

Fergus' failure to respond to this, a memory they had often laughed together over, brought a worried frown to Aedan's face as he continued prodding his sibling's memory, "You remember…that time you discovered that the new barmaid at the Hart's Rest, whom you had taken quite a fancy to after a couple bottles of wine, only looked a maid after some imaginative work with undergarments and, of course, a good shave?" Aedan prompted, covering his worry over Fergus' haggard appearance and uncharacteristic melancholy with the boisterous humor the two men had developed during a childhood spent amongst their father's soldiers.

Not rising to his brother's banter Fergus remained silent as he gingerly eased himself into the offered chair. Observing Fergus' occasional grimace as his leg shifted uncomfortably Aeden hurriedly cleared another stack of papers from a nearby ottoman and placed the furniture so that his brother's lame leg was well supported by it. Once satisfied his sibling was comfortable Aedan silently returned to his seat behind the crowded desk, Fergus' continued grim demeanor sobering Aedan's short-lived exuberance. Regarding Fergus from across the desk what Aedan had initially thought a companionable silence soon showed its true colors as a tense, brooding silence.

"Brother," Fergus said suddenly, shattering the quiet, "I have decided to join the Chantry."

"What? You are now the teyrn of Highever!" Aedan protested, voice raised in surprise, "You can't abandon our fief for the Chantry."

"I must do this, Aedan, I cannot return to Highever…the memories are unbearable even this far from where it all happened. How could I return to castle Cousland where every room carries a memory of wrestling with Oren, every corridor a kiss stolen from Oriana? No, I want peace and that will not be found in Highever." the elder Cousland said in an infuriatingly calm voice.

"Fergus, I understand your desire to leave all that behind but Highever is our family's land, our duty is to protect its people and, now, to also repair the damage Howe's men inflicted on it. Remember our heritage, Fergus, 'We are Couslands and we do what must."

"Do not quote father's words at me, brother, you are the one forgetting his duty." accused Fergus, anger piercing his detachment.

"How can you say that? All I have done the past year is fulfill my duties, to the Wardens, to Ferelden, and to our family."

"Familial duties?" mocked Fergus, "And just when did you fulfill those? Tell me, was it when you let our castle fall to Howe's men, or when you abandoned everyone there to death as you fled? And how have you been rewarded for this; by being proclaimed the 'Hero of Ferelden, by being given the Queen's hand in marriage, by being able to kill those bastards Howe and Loghain with your own hands."

Running out of breath Fergus slumped back in the chair, his sudden air of defeat halting Aedan's furious rebuke as he heard his brother continue in a quiet, disappointed voice, "And how have I been rewarded? With the death of my wife and child, the crippling of my leg, and having to relive every night the sight of men who trusted in my leadership screaming in pain as they are eaten alive by darkspawn while I cravenly crawl towards a fallen tree to hide under."

Haunted, red-rimmed eyes boring into Aedan's bright, green irises Fergus whispered, "Why do I owe duty more, why should I accept the even greater responsibility of being the teyrn when my only wages thus far have been pain?"

"You are my brother, Fergus, and so I will forgive your words as the ill-spoken ramblings of a broken man…but do not say such things again or we shall both lose our last, precious connection to a more carefree life." Aedan stated evenly, any tremor of emotion undetectable in his stony voice.

The tormented look in Fergus' eyes subsiding as the cold words of his younger brother cut through his despair he wearily leaned forward; digging the heels of his palms into his blood-shot eyes. "I'm sorry, Aedan…I know the castle's fall and my family's death were not due to your failing. And you are right, we are all the family the other has left and I will not jeopardize that even in my despair."

Nodding his acceptance of the apology Aedan shared a rueful, relieved smile with his sibling in recognition of a dangerous conversation successfully negotiated before speaking, "I understand your desire to join the Chantry and I will not argue with you about it but there are some pertinent matters that I will make you aware of."

"Such as?"

"A Grey Warden secret." Aedan leaned forward to whisper dramatically, his eyes comically darting about looking for imaginary eavesdroppers.

"Ooh, exciting." Fergus remarked in a matching whisper, glad for the lightening of the mood Aedan was providing.

Chuckling at their antics Aedan leaned back; glad to see the old, mischievous spark in Fergus' eyes rather than the emptiness that had replaced it of late. "Actually, I've no idea why the Wardens keep it a secret but it is rather fortunate for me that they do so I must ask you to not repeat this to anyone."

"Of course, Aedan."

"Wardens are, apparently, largely infertile." Watching Fergus' confusion slowly turn to understanding Aedan continued, "Yes, that is rather a problem for someone expected to fulfill the role of 'Prince-Consort'. But that is not why I tell you of this particular side effect to the Joining. No, I tell you because we are the last of the Couslands and since I will likely never have offspring the Cousland line is your responsibility…a responsibility you can't fulfill in the Chantry."

"I see."

"Now, I know you said you want to hear no more of duty but please consider that not only will you be leaving our family's lands bereft of their rightful master but the Cousland line will perish without you."

"I will consider what you've said, Aedan, though I do not think that it will change my decision." the older man said after a pause. After a further moment of silence Fergus slowly stood and painfully made his way towards the door.

As the crippled man reached the doorway Aedan called out, his voice once again grim, "There is, however, one duty which even joining the Chantry will not hide you from, Fergus." Seeing his brother twist about and regard him warily Aedan fought to keep the smile dancing in his eye from spreading to his lips as he continued, "You must still be my best man for the wedding…one I trust will do a better job with the bachelor party than I did those many years ago."

Chuckling for the first time he could remember Fergus limped away from his now widely grinning brother.

* * *

As the shuffling sound of Fergus' limp disappeared from hearing Aedan's smile vanished along with it. Crumpling up a paper he hurled it across the room, his anger doing anything but fade as the paper gently fluttered to the floor halfway to the door. Sighing heavily Aedan slumped forward resting his elbows on the papers that covered the desk his chin resting on steepled fingers. Hearing a faint, muffled sound Aedan silently cursed his momentary outburst and immediately banished his weary, petulant behavior lest an unwanted onlooker see his weakness. Covertly scanning the open doorway and adjacent hall for the noise's source Aedan forced himself to sit straight and pretend of examine the pile of paper in front of him. Noticing a faint flicker in the torchlight which streamed through the still doorway Aedan groaned silently to himself, the reaction becoming audible and his body language once again crumpling as he heard _her _light laughter.

"Oh, look here! The Hero of Ferelden, the slayer of darkspawn, demons, evildoers in general, and now scourge of offensive parchment everywhere. Ballads will be sung of his might, his cleverness, his bravery, and his tendency to hide his head in his hands."

"Damn it woman, how long were you lurking out there for."

"How long do you think?" inquired the disembodied voice as it seemed to enter the room.

"The whole time," Aedan grumbled, "You know that was supposed to be a private meeting with my brother."

"But of course, why else do you think I listened. Your mumbled complaints to yourself about bann this or arl that are not so interesting…but a conversation with a brother you until recently thought dead?" said the voice as it circled the desk to come from behind him, "That could be most interesting, no?"

"So you heard the, uh…"

"The part about you being infertile?"

His face coloring Aedan grimaced as he realized that his embarrassment was showing, a fact which merely further reddened his cheeks.

"Blushing? First throwing things around in a tantrum and now blushing…oh, what a shame Wynne is not here to order you off to bed early for being a bad little boy." chided the invisible intruder.

Clearing his throat roughly in an attempt to regain some shred of masculine dignity Aedan tried to direct the conversation to a topic less demeaning, "Well if you heard what happened with Fergus than…"

Interrupting him the female voice continued as if he had not said anything, "Of course, I suppose if Wynne were actually to have heard that she would immediately begin working on a way to increase Warden fertility. A process, I am sure, that would doubtlessly require much questioning and examination of pertinent…facts. I should like to see the blush that would bring to your face."

"Are quite finished?" he asked his invisible tormenter.

"Of course, _mon amour._" Leliana cooed as she finally allowed herself to fade into view.

Smiling at her as she seamlessly emerged from the shadow cast by a nearby bookshelf, despite his desire to stay good and affronted by her eavesdropping and teasing, Aedan fell silent for a moment as he simply drank in the sight of her. Leliana's practical, if revealing, leather armor had been replaced with an elegant gown that showed far less of her ivory skin and yet still managed to reach out and capture the attention of every libido within eyesight due to the way it clung to the bard's womanly curves. Aedan's irritated expression melted instantly as the bard strutted towards him; the sway of her hips accentuated by the expensive material of her gown that said respectable while whispering the opposite.

Smiling at her ability to render him momentarily speechless Leliana decided to relieve some of his embarrassment as a reward for the compliment his amorous eyes were giving her as they mentally peeled away the layers of her clothing, "Don't worry, love, I've known about that issue since Alistair first told you and I don't think it makes you any less of a man; especially because it seems to have no detrimental impact on your…performance."

"How did you…"

"How did I know? Because I am a bard, Aedan, and a good one at that. Listening in on our small company's conversations was a way to keep my skills sharp…and to have fun, I've known about this since Alistair told you."

"And it really doesn't bother you?" Aedan inquired, his voice full in equal measure of surprise and relief.

Walking up to where Aedan sat Leliana gently lowered herself sideways onto his lap wrapping one arm around his neck and placing her other hand lightly atop one of his. Leliana began speaking softly, her voice full of an uncharacteristic sadness and solemnity that immediately made Aedan focus intently on her words knowing they were of great importance to his lover, "No, Aedan your infertility does not bother me for even had the Joining not robbed you of your right to offspring I could not give them to you."

"Leliana, we already talked about this. My marriage to Anora will change nothing between us; kings have always kept mistresses, Cailen kept them so it won't even be a new situation for Anora to deal with."

"That's not what I mean, Aedan," Leliana responded as her hand guided one of Aedan's from her thigh upwards to her stomach, "Remember my scar?"

"The one from your…imprisonment?" Aedan asked, shifting uneasily at the reminder of the torment his lover had endured from Marjolaine's betrayal.

Nodding sadly Leliana continued, "Yes, that one. Marjolaine's knife wounded me more deeply than I knew at the time. Let me explain, shortly after you and I first made love I spoke to Wynne…"

"Don't listen to that mage's advice, Leliana, she also tried to get me to end our relationship; the meddling old bat." Aedan interrupted, grumbling at the memory of his unpleasant conversation with the enchanter.

Laughing lightly, though the edge of sadness remained in her voice, Leliana continued, "Yes, I remember hearing that conversation and my heart raced to hear you put her unwanted advice back in its place."

"Oh, you heard that did you?" Aedan joked, "That explains the particular passion you showed me that evening. If Wynne's aim with that little bit of advice had been to merely get some undisturbed sleep she must have been terribly disappointed with the racked we made."

"Yes, I often laugh recalling the glares she sent me the next day. Really, the nerve of that woman telling you to end it with me while I stood only yards away!" The humor dissipating the bard continued, "But that is not what she spoke to me about, she saved that lecture for you. No, I asked her to take a look at my old scar, something in my soul telling me what I did not want to believe. Wynne, however, after examining me confirmed it. Marjolaine's blow scarred me deep inside rendering me barren…a lasting reminder of her betrayal."

Seeing a few tears slowly leak from her blue eyes Aedan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight to his chest, "I'm so sorry, Leliana. Perhaps the court physician could…"

"No, my love, Wynne was certain the damage was far too extensive and had been unattended for far too long to be healed. History marks us all, no?" Smiling as her lover gently wiped a tear from her cheek Leliana snuggled closer to him, "Thank you, _mon roi_."

"You cannot call me that yet, Leliana, but it will not be long now before you and everyone will accord me that honor." Aedan replied, his voice losing its quiet, intimate tone.

Sighing as she recognized the change in both his voice and his body language as he seemed to sit up straighter and look ahead; no longer intent on the woman bundled in his arms. Reluctantly Leliana climbed out of his lap and took a seat leaning on the corner of his desk. Folding her arms Leliana spoke, her demeanor clearly irritated by Aedan's sudden change, "Enough of that self-pity, no? Time to get back to our task I suppose."

Having the grace to look ashamed as Leliana's manner drew attention to his abrupt neglect of her confession Aedan tried to backtrack, "Sorry, love…"

"Never mind that, Aedan, the time is past and cannot be recaptured. So, we might as well get to business, no?" She replied evenly.

Nodding at her words Aedan listened as the bard began giving her report, "As I suspected a group of supporters contacted the Queen while she kept her solitary vigil over Loghain's ashes. In appreciation and understanding of what that act signified the Queen invited the group, Denerim's burgher council, into the palace. There they went to a reception hall and Anora proceeded to receive their complete support in exchange for the understanding that she will continue her past policies of promoting exports and protecting Ferelden's artisans from outside competition."

"I'm surprised that they moved so quickly. Most of Fereldans, even among the nobles, don't believe that any sort of struggle over the throne is at hand." Aedan said once Leliana had finished.

Nodding the bard waited as she watched Aedan's expression become ever more agitated as he continued to consider the impact of Anora's actions. Finally Aedan broke the growing silence, "This is a problem, Leliana, a problem made far worse by my brother's failure of nerve. The burghers' support will bring with it most of the guilds, the laborers…anyone I'm forgetting?"

"Greedy nobles, too."

"Right. I had expected these factions to support my dearest betrothed," Aedan commented sarcastically, scolding himself for his choice of words as he noticed Leliana's almost imperceptible wince at the mention of his imminent wedding but continuing knowing that to bring her attention to the fact would only make matters worse, "I had also expected to counter her motley collection of store-owners with the power of Ferelden's nobility, even though I knew a few would follow Anora out of self-interest, hatred of me, or a misguided loyalty to the Mac Tir name."

Understanding the show of frustration which had pierced his normal calm demeanor and led her to mock his 'tantrum' Leliana picked up where Aedan had stopped, "You know that of Ferelden's most powerful noble blocks the majority of the bannorn is behind you because of your role in ending the Blight and because they dislike Loghain and Anora's tendency to concentrating power in the Crown rather than the Landsmeet. Likewise, Redcliffe is behind you in gratitude of our actions there while Amaranthine is now in the Warden's control and therefore also likely to support you. Conversely, Gwaren is by definition loyal to Anora because she is not only the Queen but with Loghain's death the teyrna of Gwaren as well. That leaves Highever, and Denerim as the only remaining centers of noble power whose loyalty is not given to either you or the Queen."

"Exactly. And I need those two in my control to match the power the merchant's wealth will bring Anora."

Once again taking up the thread Leliana continued, "The new arl of Denerim owes you for releasing him from the dungeons but his is also a cur devoid of honor who loves power and money more than all else so Anora's alliance with the burghers might hold an attraction for him."

"And Highever?" Aedan prompted, enjoying hearing how his bard cut through the intricacies of Ferelden politics with the ease only someone familiar with Orlais' 'Great Game' could command.

"It is your family holding and firmly supports you…so long as a Cousland is its teyrn. But, with Fergus seeking succor with the Chantry and there being no other Couslands the holding will revert to the Crown. And, until you are King, the power to give out fiefs is in Anora's hands meaning whoever she puts in power over Highever will be beholden to her and not bound in any way to you."

Nodding at her summation Aedan grimly stated, "I cannot allow that to happen."

"What will you do?"

"I will continue to remind him of his duty, hopefully that will get through to him eventually."

"You really think so?"

"Perhaps not, but I was also hoping you could talk to him."

"About my fleeing to the Chantry and how in the end it did not good?"

"Exactly, my dear, I do love how you devious, Orlesian mind understands these things."

**A/N: Reviews please! I'd like to know what I'm doing wrong or right.**


	4. Chapter 4: Persuasions

**A/N: Thank you to the few people who have bothered to review, especially **mutive **for the constructive criticism, and I hope all of you continue to do so. As for the rest of you readers…please, for the love of all that is holy, send me some reviews so I know what I'm doing right or wrong.**

** I know this story is slow but please hang in there as it will eventually speed up and I do have some more exciting scenes planned for the next chapter or two to liven up the reading a bit.**

Persuasions

Aedan strode into the kitchens enjoying the sharp intakes of breath and hurried curtsies his arrival elicited from the cooks and scullery maids. Sweeping past their obsequious poses in a rustle of silken cloth and a flash of gilt finery Aedan's keen eyes saw his target emerging from a storeroom. Arms piled high with cheese, bread, and cold cuts of meat Fergus entered the kitchen his expression curious as to the sudden hush that had befallen the ever-bustling kitchen. Instantly his eyes were drawn to the prominent figure of his younger brother as the man quickly walked towards him through a sea of parting servants.

"Hello, Aedan." Fergus greeted, secretly enjoying the quick flash of irritation that crossed his brother's face at the casual familiarity of the greeting Fergus had given him in the presence of the many servants.

Recovering his composure Aedan responded, careful to do so in a way that would explain to the surrounding kitchen staff the reason for Fergus' casual greeting and remind everyone of their proper stations, "Brother, I thought you'd be down here. Some things never change; just like when we were younger here you are still harassing the poor, hardworking help."

Reaching his brother Aedan clapped a hand to Fergus' shoulder and began steering him towards the nearby mess hall. Allowing himself to be guided Fergus was surprised as he entered the mess to see the large room completely devoid of its normal population of off duty soldiers. His attention drawn by this inconsistency Fergus noticed the mess hall's few current occupants aside from himself and Aedan; a pair of soldiers looking very much on-duty clad with the livery of the palace guard next to each doorway. As he watched them, curious as to their unusual presence, Fergus felt Aedan's arm on his shoulder urge him to sit at the table the two brothers had walked up to.

Once his brother was seated Aedan motioned for the guards to leave and hurried around the table's end; glad to be able to walk at his normal pace rather than matching Fergus' halting step. Waiting until the guardsmen had shut the doors behind them and taken their posts outside the mess hall Aedan sat across the heavy, wooden table from his brother watching patiently as Fergus arranged the mountain of food he had brought with him atop the dirty, battered tabletop that had endured the ravages of generations of careless guardsmen. Waiting until Fergus could no longer pretend to be distracted by the all-consuming importance of arranging food Aedan began speaking as he saw Fergus reluctantly direct his gaze up from the table and towards Aedan, "Look at all that food, brother! Want to know another of the Grey Warden's precious secrets?"

Not waiting for an answer Aedan continued, "After the Joining a new Warden's appetite dramatically increases and we devour enormous amounts of food. Seeing what you're doing I must say I'm glad you haven't undergone the Joining or the Wardens would bankrupt themselves trying to find you enough fodder."

"I'm undergoing the sacrament of devotion tonight." responded Fergus, prompted to continue explaining by the blank expression on Aedan's face, "Devotion…the rite by which a layperson becomes Affirmed? Where the prospective Affirmed examine their faith during a twelve hour, silent vigil? You didn't listen to a word Mother Mallol said during our instruction on the Chantry, did you?"

"Of course I did, Fergus" Aedan protested, "I just knew that because I was the son of a teyrn Affirmation was not my destiny no matter how sincere my devotion to our Maker is."

"Ah, so that is what this conversation will be about." Fergus stated with a forced calmness.

Giving up the charade of joviality Aedan's expression became grim as he prepared for the inevitable argument, "Yes, Fergus, that is why I am here."

"Why does it matter so much that I become teyrn? We both know Father was grooming you for the position; that is why I was allowed to marry while you were expected to remain single until a political match showed itself. You be the teyrn."

"I know what father intended, brother, but I can not hold both the teyrnir and kingship."

"Why not? Your betrothed is now both the teyrna of Gwaren and the Queen." argued Fergus.

"That's different and you know it, Fergus. She inherited the teyrnir by being the only surviving Mac Tir, it was her duty. If she had a sibling it would have passed to them; to do otherwise is to make the nobles of the Landsmeet nervous of your growing power. If you join the Chantry and I accept the inheritance of Highever all the nobles will think I forced you aside and am gathering power into my own hands in order to weaken, or even destroy, the Landsmeet's traditional power. Therefore, if you become Affirmed I will have to let Anora give our fief to one of her creatures."

"Wouldn't it be decided by the laws of inheritance?"

"Ordinarily yes, but with there being no other Couslands the rest of the claims are tenuous at best and would likely result in a second civil war as nobles with varying claims fight over our land. In that situation the Landsmeet would almost certainly vote for the teyrnir to revert to the Crown to avoid that outcome."

"I see. Politics. You want me to be the teyrn knowing that I'll be one of _your _creatures." cutting off Aedan's response Fergus continued, "No, Aedan, I don't fault you for that. Such pragmatic decisions are the currency of politics and are the reason I need to leave that world to find peace."

Silence stretched out after Fergus' statement as Aedan's mind searched for a chink in the armor of his brother's reasoning. Before one could be found, however, Fergus broke the quiet, "As I lay wounded and a prisoner of the Chasind I clung to the promise of revenge upon the Darkspawn, Loghain, and Howe to sustain me…but you already accomplished all that. Now when thinking about all I've lost it only plunges me into a darkness that makes me want to give up this life. After all, what's left for me now? That, that feeling of purposelessness is what I'm hoping the Chantry will help me overcome."

"Your purpose is to be the teyrn of Highever."

"I can hardly convince myself to get out of bed each morning, I find no satisfaction in what used to be enjoyable, in short I no longer have the passion or energy required to be a leader." countered Fergus sadly, his eyes never leaving the scarred table. Shaking his head he slowly forced himself to look up and meet his brother's eyes, "Aedan, despite what I foolishly said in our last argument I know that you have lost as much as I from the Blight and Howe's treachery and yet you have somehow not surrendered to despair and continue pushing yourself to achieve new things. I marvel at the ability you possess to continue giving your all a world that has brought you only pain now that revenge is no longer a viable motivator. I, however, do not seem to possess that particular quality. So tell me, having endured all that we both have, how do you go on with living?"

The well-rehearsed words pouring out in a like quicksilver Aedan jumped at his chance, "I find strength by knowing my duty to Ferelden's people. By leading our nation out of the rubble from a civil war and a Blight and towards a new age…"

"Save it for the ignorant masses, Aedan." Fergus snarled, "I at least deserve the truth. Is it for wealth and power? You did not care about such things before I left for Ostagar but do you care now?"

Looking towards the sealed doors Aedan lowered his voice and, confident in their temporary solitude, bared his soul, "Then here is the truth of the matter, brother. A revelation I have not entrusted to anyone else and one I trust you not to betray." seeing Fergus' nodded agreement Aedan went on, "Your guess is broadly correct, I want as much power as I can wring from this world but I do this not for myself but rather because I _do _have a sense of duty. Not towards Ferelden, not for the wretched masses of commoners and merchants but for our own noble family's name. For the Cousland name I have not only destroyed our trespassers but I will build our fame to such blinding heights of glory that our enemies; the Howes, Mac Tirs, and all their followers will be eclipsed by our grandeur and forgotten by history. Yes, I have saved Ferelden from the Blight and defeated our betrayers but my work has only just begun. Under me Ferelden will experience an age of glory that even Calenhad's unification will dim by comparison. Our borders will expand, our coffers overflow, our armies will sweep all before them, and monuments in remembrance of our slain family will rise across Thedas. Names and faces etched in granite they will endure for ages as personifications of the ideals they embodied in life; Father as duty, Mother as honor, Oren as innocence, and Orianna as love."

"And you need Highever's political and military support so that this can come to pass." Fergus stated, his blunt manner puncturing Aedan's impassioned discourse.

Recovering from his momentary deflation Aedan's mind once again leapt into the forges of ambition as he continued, "Yes, but that is not the end of my need for you to rule Highever. My name will ring throughout history but how much more glorious would it be if the Cousland name were to become a dynasty. And therein lays the rub. No matter my accomplishments I cannot secure that final, most precious of achievements; that is your fate." his eyes alight as he stared into the future of his design Aedan briefly paused for breath before continuing, "From you a line of Cousland kings could spring from Highever flowing into the current of history bringing a purity and perfection absent in this world just as the fast flowing, clear waters of the mountain streams that descend from the snow crested peaks of our homeland and surge into the dark, deep waters of the Waking Sea lighten the bracken waters of the coast."

Breaking Aedan's reverie Fergus interrupted, "You hunt for glory, and I do not begrudge you that quest, but I hunt for peace which is inevitably lost in the paroxysms of violence that history teaches are glory's attendants. I wish you well but I do not think I can help you. No, brother, tonight I will begin my vigil of affirmation." Standing from the well worn table Fergus slowly made his way towards the doorway. Passing through it Fergus felt the questioning gaze of the guardsmen who wondered what had passed between the two brothers beyond their hearing in the security of the empty mess hall.

"So be it, Fergus." Aedan said sadly to his brother's retreating back. Shaking his melancholy away Aedan addressed the seemingly empty room, "Okay, Leliana, come on out."

Emerging from the shadows as she left the concealment of a wooden pillar the bard pouted, "How did you know? Was it the lamp that flickered as I walked past it?"

"Perhaps you are not as sneaky as you believe yourself to be." Aedan replied brusquely, frustrated at Fergus' intractable attitude. Looking at the wounded expression on his bard's face Aedan's voice immediately softened as her pout did its trick despite its obvious exaggeration, "Oh stop playing the victim, Leliana, it will not work on me. I know of your strengths far too well to believe in this show of weakness. But, just to put your mind at ease, no…no I did not notice any shadows, flickering flames, or subtle sounds as you sneaked about. I simply guessed that you would be haunting any further conversations I held with Fergus seeing as how entertaining you found the last one to be."

Refusing to abandon her frown without wringing some reparation from him in return for his initial insulting of her roguish talents Leliana continued in a hurt voice, "Perhaps your dismissal of my abilities is not what has truly upset me, _mon roi_. Perhaps it is the fact that you do not trust me enough to bare your heart to me that has darkened my day."

Pleased to see a concerned frown cross his face at her accusation Leliana struggled to maintain her pout in the face of a growing sense of victory, a struggle not made easier as Aedan's voice became apologetic, "I'm sorry, Leliana but I did not want to tell anyone this, I only told Fergus hoping it might help him recover from his malaise. I should have told you; and I do trust you, Leliana. I just feared you would think less of me for seeking glory rather than some less selfish quest."

"You forget that I am a bard." Leliana replied, "What could possibly be better than a lover whose glorious achievements are sure to provide endless material for ballads? No, provided you start telling me all your secrets starting now, I think I might just forgive you."

Her pretty frown dissolving into an even prettier smirk as she saw the relief on his appropriately contrite face Leliana quickly closed the distance to Aedan standing behind him and gently rubbing his shoulders. Leaning down and placing a light kiss on his cheek Leliana smiled as she saw Aedan's grim expression soften under her attention, "So, _mon cheri_, glory and duty did not sway Fergus. It is now my turn to try changing his mind, no?"

* * *

"Arl Eamon, I'm glad to have found you here." Anora called out as she stepped out of her carriage and caught sight of the nobleman hurrying out of his mansion to greet her.

"Your Majesty." Eamon said as he swept into a respectfully deep bow, surprised at the Queen's sudden appearance at his estate, "Please come inside and out of the cold."

"Thank you, Eamon, though if you are otherwise occupied please don't let me be an inconvenience; I'm just here for an informal, friendly visit." Anora commented as they made their way into Eamon's estate; both experienced nobles knowing that her claims to the contrary only emphasized the importance of this meeting.

Seating themselves in comfortable chairs surrounding a roaring fire in Eamon's study Anora got down to business, "I find myself with a problem I was hoping you could help me solve, Eamon."

"Of course, Your Majesty, whatever is in my power I shall do."

"Thank you. I was hoping you could tell me which is more fitting for the memorial statue that I intend to have built of Alistair. As you know my betrothed wants, and quite rightly so, a statue built in honor of Alistair in front of the new Grey Wardens building he plans to construct here in Denerim." seeing the old man's face sadden at the reminder of his adopted son's death Anora continued, confidence in her approach's success, "The question is how to portray Alistair for history. Clad in Cailan's armor as the last and greatest of the Theirins, the man who killed the Archdemon and saved Ferelden…or should he be remembered as the Warden who sacrificed himself as his duty to the order demanded?"

"Either is a great honor, my Queen." Eamon stated slowly as Anora watched him closely, glad to see that the arl was taking the question seriously as it showed he understood its implications, "I, I believe Alistair would have like to be known to history as a Theirin. After all, the statue's location outside the Warden's compound should make that relationship clear so let the statue itself tell of his kingly blood."

"Wonderful, Eamon, I shall do as you suggest and Alistair will be known to history as one of Calenhad's heirs." Anora stated firmly as she stood to leave, pausing to mention one last issue seemingly as an aside, "Oh, and Eamon. I was hoping that you could come by the palace tomorrow. Orlais has sent an embassy and I was hoping you would lend your expertise to me as an advisor in our dealings with our neighbors."

"I am humbled you think me an expert, Your Majesty, and I will, of course, do anything in my power to help the Crown."

Having seen the Queen back to her carriage Eamon returned to his study finding Teagan waiting for him, "Eamon, what did she want?"

"To discuss plans for Alistair's statue and to ask me to advise her tomorrow regarding Orlais."

"Really?" Teagan responded, his voice dripping skepticism.

"Of course not, Teagan, but that is what she said." Eamon responded easily.

"I hate politics."

"As do I, brother, but I play at it nonetheless."

"So, what do you think the Queen really said?"

"I believe she was at the least attempting to heal the schism that opened between us during the Blight."

"You're being rather recalcitrant in answering me, Eamon, so I know something that simple isn't all you've read into this meeting's words."

Nodding Eamon continued, "I am not sure but, depending on how the audience with the Orlesians goes tomorrow, Anora might well be looking beyond a simple rapprochement and towards an alliance."

"An alliance against Aedan." Teagan stated, "Surely you cannot be considering that! After all Aedan did for Redcliffe, and all of Ferelden, during the Blight you can't side against him now. To do so would be a craven act of betrayal."

"I do not dispute that the man is a great leader in times of war but what does he know of peace? In comparison Anora has proven herself a more than capable ruler in peacetime."

"It sounds as if you have already made up your mind as to who you shall throw Redcliffe's support behind." Teagan said without accusation, "I just hope you do this for the logical reasons you profess and not in revenge for Aedan letting Alistair make the killing blow on the Archdemon. I know you wanted a Theirin on the throne and Aedan ruined that chance but if bloodlines are that important to you a Cousland is the next best option now that the Theirins are extinct."

"I know that, Teagan, and I do not begrudge Aedan his throne as Prince-Consort. In fact, that outcome is best as it will leave Ferelden's recovery in Anora's capable hands while also injecting nobility back into the blood of the royal line; a nobility Anora's Mac Tir blood lacks."

"But you must realize that if either of them outmaneuvers the other the loser will inevitably be executed." Teagan protested.

"Exactly, and that is why I must be in the middle of the whole thing trying to make sure neither of them loses. I, and Ferelden, need their power struggle to end in a draw." Eamon answered, his voice strong and etched with purpose.

"And you have now informed Anora of your support?"

"In a way, yes. I suggested Alistair's statue represent him as Maric's heir rather than as the simple, dutiful Warden Aedan had planned."

"That will infuriate Aedan! Not only will it present him as the second-choice to the throne behind Alistair but it will raise questions as to why Aedan allowed the rightful king to deal the deathblow to the Archdemon rather than doing it himself as duty and loyalty would demand. I hope Anora rewards you suitably for this because Aedan is not someone I would set about irritating for a pittance."

"I hope so as well," Eamon agreed solemnly, "And that is the question that will be answered tomorrow when I go to court."

* * *

"Fergus, I thought that I might find you here!" Leliana exclaimed, her exuberant voice echoing through the hushed confines of the palace chantry as she swept down the center aisle. Striding past several worshippers Leliana continued chattering; seemingly ignorant of the irritated glares her appearance drew from those around her and who had been bowed in prayer prior to her appearance. "First I checked your quarters, then the parade ground, and finally the kitchen…a location I was sure you'd be at because, in my experience, when looking for a man it is always best to check the brothels and the kitchen. And, since I know, or at least think I know, that you are not the type to frequent the brothels I…

Wincing at both the sudden interruption and in embarrassment as his fellow devotees turned to look at the reason for the boisterous redhead's arrival Fergus quickly stood and walked towards the loquacious bard; set on intercepting her before she finished demolishing the tranquility of the chapel, "Leliana, as delighted as I am to see you I am in the middle of my devotions. Perhaps I could arrange to meet you afterwards to discuss whatever brought you in search of me?"

"Oh, that's sweet of you but I don't want to be a huge bother to you!" Leliana protested, willfully ignorant of the obvious contradiction between her words and actions. Grabbing his arm Leliana began pulling the embarrassed man away from the other affirmees, "Here, Fergus, let us duck into the library. Chantry libraries have always been my favorite place to talk…so quiet, and tranquil; the perfect place for a conversation."

Deciding it was best to do anything that would get the bard away from the others holding vigil and sure that the reverend mother would be understanding of his own vigil's lapse Fergus allowed Leliana to pull him out of the sanctuary. Entering the library Fergus moved to sit in a comfortable looking chair that even had a stool for his leg as Leliana closed the door behind them and took a seat in a nearby chair. Looking at the nearly crippled man Leliana saw the relief etched on Fergus' face as he settled his leg into a comfortable position; smiling in sympathy Leliana resumed talking, "I bet it feels good to be sitting comfortably rather than kneeling on the cold stone."

"Such discomfort is a small price to pay…" Fergus began before Leliana interrupted, something indefinable in her tone clearly indicating to Fergus that she was no longer simply chattering.

"I remember my own affirmation vigil. I had just recovered from a wound of my own and as I sat before the beautiful statue of our lady Andraste I felt the stitching give way. As I knelt there, my muscles screaming in protest at having to hold that position for hours, I felt the heat of blood as it sheeted down my back bringing with it a constant reminder of the pain I had suffered that had led me to seek affirmation in the Chantry in the first place."

Eyebrows rising in surprise Fergus followed the redhead's obvious prompt, "You were Affirmed?"

"Yes, I was. Like many, including you, I was driven to the Chantry to seek succor from my past and I did, indeed, find it there for a time."

"But you are not still living in the cloister." Fergus observed, "So I'm guessing you're here to tell me why that path failed you and will, presumably, fail me as well."

Giggling at Fergus' perceptive comment Leliana nodded, "Exactly, Aedan wants me to convince you to become teyrn by telling you how the Chantry doesn't really help heal the past's wounds."

"Well, even from our short acquaintance, I know you will not leave me to my vigil in peace until you have had your say…so please begin." Fergus said without rancor.

"Thank you Fergus. Now, where was I? Oh yes, my vigil. Well, as I said, I knelt there by the altar for hours feeling my head spin as I became faint from blood loss. The Reverend Mother saw the blood seeping through the robes I wore and quietly urged me to delay quit my vigil and heal before once again attempting the twelve hours of prayer and meditation. Your knees must have been very uncomfortable, Fergus, did the Reverend Mother here ask you if you'd like to have a cushion or something?"

"Yes, she told me I could sit on the pews; that Andraste was merciful and did not want me to suffer." Fergus answered, curious as to the bard's point.

"And Her Grace is not doubt correct. And yet when I came in I saw you on the hard, stone floor with the other initiates." smiling at Fergus' silence following this observation Leliana continued, "I did the same as you…I refused to delay my vigil and completed it that very night. After it was done I almost immediately fainted and had to spend the next week recuperating. While I healed the Reverend Mother visited me and left me with some words of warning that in my desperate search for relief from the nightmares of my past I then ignored; but they have stuck with me ever since and, I believe, have proven wise. She said to me, 'Just as with physical wounds the wounds of the soul cannot heal until the nature and extent of the injury has been discovered. I have seen this all many times before, child. The tortured soul seeking solace within the Chantry is an oft repeated theme and many times within that theme I have watched ones such as you whose wounds have yet not been explored. You are, of course, welcome to stay here but I wonder whether your decision to seek the tranquility of the chantry lifestyle is truly a quest for healing or if it is actually a flight from the painful necessity of probing your wounds to find their true nature.'"

"You remember all that, do you?" Fergus commented dryly.

Laughing at his skepticism Leliana gently scolded the wounded man, "Here I am telling you a quite personal story and you have the callousness to question me! As if I needed further proof chivalry is dead."

"You're right, of course, Leliana. I apologize for my thoughtlessness…" Fergus began before the bard quickly cut him off.

"Do not apologize, Fergus, for you are correct… I did not recall the good reverend mother's speech word for word. In fact what she said might have been closer to, 'Quit wiggling about, girl, your only making it hurt more by moving around as I try to stitch you up. Maker's Breath would you hold still already? I swear I've worked on children who were better patients than you.' That might be a more accurate recollection but really, if you read between the lines, it means essentially the same thing, no? Besides, I rather like to believe that if she hadn't been so annoyed at having to re-stitch me that all she did was mutter about the impossibility of Orlesians she would have given me the advice I have just related to you."

Smiling Fergus shook his head in wonder at the bard's flippant manner, "So, Leliana, what than would you suggest if not the chantry."

"That is something only you can decide but let me continue to tell you my story in the hope that you can glean some useful lessons from it." Seeing Fergus nod his acquiescence Leliana continued, "I stayed at the chantry and recovered from my wounds physically but the pain in my heart did not lessen. I could not understand it at the time and, indeed, did not understand it until much later when traveling Ferelden with Aedan. Now, I won't bore you with details but at a certain point in our travels during the Blight we met a man; really more a spirit than a man.

This spirit questioned me as to my religious beliefs, which are not entirely in line with Chantry doctrine, accusing me of pretending to have visions from the Maker as a desperate cry for attention. At the time, of course, I was offended at his preposterous accusation but it haunted me nonetheless. As I continued to mull over the spirit's words I came to realize that while I still believe in my visions the spirit's words held a deeper truth regarding my situation.

For you to understand this I must briefly go back even further into my past and tell you why I ended up in Lothering's chantry. I am a bard, as you know, and during a mission I was betrayed by one whom I loved and who, I believed, returned my love. I found out the hard way that I was mistaken. It was that betrayal which led me to the Chantry. Now, as I sat in our camp high up in the freezing mountains I realized that the spirit's questions were not designed as an attack on my beliefs but rather as a prompt to make me examine my soul; an examination I had always shied away from in the chantry.

As I thought on that I finally probed my wound and I reached a conclusion. My wound was the pain of my ability to love having been removed from my soul. The Maker, I believe, knew this and in His mercy sent visions to me that reassured me of the love He holds for His creation. But, because the Maker is perfect it is easy to love him in return and entailed no risk on my part. Therefore, the Maker sent me one final vision, a vision which led me into Aedan's company where, slowly, I rediscovered that I could feel both the strength and vulnerability of love. As Aedan and I built our relationship in the midst of danger and despair my wound healed in a final and absolute way that would not have been possible in the chantry's peace, I learned to allow myself to be vulnerable for the first time since my betrayal and have been rewarded for my risk by once again knowing the pleasures of giving and receiving love."

Standing from her chair Leliana walked up to Fergus and gave him a strong, reassuring hug which he gladly accepted. Releasing him the bard headed for the library's door pausing to briefly before leaving, "I will not simply tell you that the Chantry is a fool's hope, as Aedan no doubt would want me to, but I will tell you this: before devoting your life to the Chantry please learn from my experiences that to seek healing without knowing exactly what is hurt is a hopeless task. Probe your wound, find out what needs healing and only then decide whether the Chantry will provide the healing you require."

Sitting quietly Fergus heard Leliana pad across the room and begin opening the door. Before she could slip out he called to her, "Thank you, Leliana. I do not look forward to facing the pains of my past but I thank you for the advice. If my brother asks for news of me tell him that you have convinced me to at least delay my vigil as I think on what you've told me."

"Very well, Fergus, and I wish you peace…by whatever path you can find it." the redhead said compassionately before gracefully slipping out of the library and closing the door quietly behind her so as not to disturb the affirmees.


	5. Chapter 5: Crow's Feast

**A/N: Okay, I know I always ask for reviews but it's more important now than ever because I have no idea how to write an action scene so any feedback on what I'm doing right or wrong would for that part would be very helpful. Of course anything else you'd like to mention is also more than welcome.**

** M rating starts now. At the moment it's just for violence and sex but other warnings will surely follow in later chapters. You've been warned.**

Crow's Feast

A lone figure stood guard outside a heavy, wooden door; though perhaps the description 'standing' gives far too much credit to the way the figure lounged in the corner where wood door met stone wall. And, if that is the case, then 'guarding' is certainly shameless hyperbole regarding the figure's state of alert.

Shifting slightly as one of the many locks that secured the door dug uncomfortably into his arm Fiedh gave a resigned sigh as the quite anatomically detailed dream he had been happily ensconced in fled his eager teenage imagination leaving in its wake only a wistful smile and the sense of undirected arousal that is the usual state of boys his age. Reluctantly cracking an eyelid open Fiedh glanced up and down the hallway before settling himself back into his corner determined to catch up to his scantily clad dream.

The increasingly loud sounds of people walking having managed to pierce the entwined limbs that otherwise occupied his drowsing mind Fiedh automatically snapped to attention, the fear his captain had instilled in him of being executed for sleeping on duty having ingrained in his mind a remarkable attentiveness to the sound of approaching footsteps. Unfortunately for Fiedh that instinctive movement resulted in the hallway echoing like a cathedral's bell tower as his knee knocked into the metal kite shield that had leaned against him just as he had leaned against the wall. Reflexively jerking back from the startling sound the shield made as it crashed to the floor the boy found the metal ringing noise in his ears only increase as his iron helmet banged against one of the metal reinforcing bands that ran across the door he had been guarded all day.

"Maker's arse." Fiedh groaned as he heard the approaching footsteps break into a run. Quickly bending over the retrieve his incriminating shield Fiedh's vision suddenly went black as his ill-fitting helmet slid down over his eyes. "Andraste's tits!" the unfortunate guard shouted as he continued to unleash the wonderfully blasphemous curses he had learned over the last several weeks since joining his bann's guards. The sacrilege having a surprisingly calming effect Fiedh managed to pull his almost comically over-sized helmet back on the top of his head and out of his eyes. Only to be greeted by the sight of his captain's red, choleric face and bared sword.

"Oh, shit."

"Shit 's right, lass, and you're up to your neck in it." the captain growled quietly at Fiedh before turning and shouting back down the hall he had come from. "My lord, just a false alarm…all is secure."

His previously happy state of dreamy satisfaction having been shattered by the captain's arrival the appearance from around the hallway's corner of his liege Bann Jaerand swept up the shards of happiness and threw them into the trash heap of despair.

Approaching the captain Jaerand looked inquiringly towards Fiedh who now stood frozen, except for his nervously bobbing larynx, before the two men, "Fell asleep and dropped your shield, lad?"

"N,no, my lord. J,j-just dropped it, my lord."

"Indeed?" Jaerand commended dryly, "Ser Eir, do you remember your predecessor?"

"Yes, lord." the suddenly wary captain answered.

"Do you remember why I dismissed him without his service pension?"

"Yes, lord."

"Please explain…for the edification of our young soldier here, of course."

His normally florid face paling Ser Eir did as ordered, "He was dismissed for failing to adequately perform his duty of training recruits."

"Exactly. The failing of a recruit is, in fact, the failing of his instructor." Jaerand said in a congratulatory voice to the captain before once again addressing the mortified young Feidh, "Now, soldier, once again…did you fall asleep?"

"No, my lord. Dropped my shield, my lord."

"I see."

Grasping at the lifeline Fiedh had thrown Ser Eir jumped, "My fault, lord, shouldn't ever have issued him this shield." confidence in his excuse growing the captain continued, "I just gave him the usual guard shield not thinking that at his age the weight of it would be too much to hold all day."

Turning away from his bann Ser Eir's voice assumed its usual commanding tone as he addressed Feidh, "Son, report to the armory after your shift and exchange that kite shield for a buckler. Wood or steel; doesn't matter, just make sure its light enough to carry all day and use in a battle all night."

"Yes, Ser."

Nodding in satisfaction at a job well done Eir reached into a pouch that hung from his belt. Pulling out a ring from which several large, iron keys hung the captain looked at his bann for permission. Seeing Jaerand's nodded approval Ser Eir shoved the hapless Feidh away from the door and proceeded to begin opening the many locks on the door.

As his captain slowly figured out what key went with which lock Jaerand continued studying Fiedh who was soon shifting nervously under the scrutiny. Not taking his eyes off the young soldier Jaerand spoke, "Captain, is this…man…typical of our new recruits?"

"Actually he's a little better than most."

"Really? But he's so young. How old are you, lad?"

"Fourteen, my lord." Feidh answered shakily, his peasant instincts screaming about the dangers of attracting noble attention.

"Hmm, and you say he's better than most, Ser Eir?" Jaerand asked.

"Unfortunately, so. All of the newest recruits are either under fifteen or over sixty and don't want to be here away from their mothers or wives." motioning to Feidh the captain continued, "This lad, at least, volunteered once he turned fourteen rather than wait for us to press him into service. That's why I assigned him to your guard."

"Indeed? So, lad, why did you volunteer when none of my other subjects have since the last call-up during the civil war?"

Seeing the captain nodding for him to continue Feidh swallowed his nerves and managed to croak out, "My family died in the Blight and this is the only way I can get food and clothing."

"As good a reason as any, I suppose." Jaerand answered charitably, "So captain, this boy is the best we have to replace our losses from the Blight and he can't hold a shield for an entire duty shift."

"I'm afraid so, my lord." Ser Eir answered as he finally finished unlocking the door.

"I knew manpower was low but this…" shaking his head Jaerand cracked the now unlocked door open and slipped inside in such a way as to prevent both Eir and Feidh from seeing into the room.

As the bann closed the door Ser Eir leaned towards Feidh, his voice dropping conspiratorially, "Lass, you made me look bad in front of the bann. Dropped your shield…bullshit. I wasn't born yesterday and neither was the bann. If we didn't need bodies in uniform so badly right now I'd see you hang. As it is I'll settle for making your life a living nightmare."

"Yes, Ser." Feidh answered miserably, careful to hide his joy at having accomplished the feat of falling asleep on duty and then speaking with his social betters without meeting a hangman's noose.

* * *

Entering the candlelit room Bann Jaerand bolted the door behind him and surveyed the scene before him. Clustered around the lone table that stood in the middle of the bare, stone walled room five shadowy shapes watched him closely, the fear and excitement radiating from their body language revealing far more about them than the dim, flickering candlelight concealed.

"Sers, a pleasure, as always, to meet with you." Jaerand called out loudly, smirking inwardly at the startled jumps of several of his guests.

"Likewise Bann Jaerand. You will understand, I hope, if we forego further pleasantries today in favor of getting down to business." the apparent leader of the shadowy figures responded.

"But of course, my friend...after all one should always endeavor to make efficient use of time when plotting treason." Jaerand said as he took a seat, this time unable to conceal his smile at the sudden agitation his words caused most of his visitors. "For that is indeed what you are proposing. Am I correct, Bann Franderel?"

"No, Jaerand, for how can it be treason to destroy a usurper and safeguard the rightful ruler's throne?"

"I admit such a task sounds quite worthy and is as far from treasonous as possible. I wonder, however, whether a rebellion that deposes one sovereign might not be threatening enough towards the remaining ruler to force compliance."

"We are not Orlais or Tevinter, Jaerand. Would such an outcome really be much different from the Landsmeet?"

"Perhaps not. But tell me, Franderel, since your fellow conspirators are seemingly mute, exactly which sovereign have you decided does not have a proper claim to the throne?"

"Aedan Cousland."

"Why him?"

"He clearly has no dynastic right and…" Franderel started.

"The truth, if you don't mind. I do not need the lines you'll feed the peasants."

"He is simply the easier to be rid of not having been monarch for several years as Anora has." Bann Franderel said, any irritation at Jaerand's interruption well hidden.

Nodding sagely Jaerand winked at the banns assembled before him knowing this would even further unnerve them, a tactic he was finding very entertaining, "And perhaps, given Cousland's proven military prowess, he is less likely to be a puppet king after the coup and more likely to use his fame and abilities to raise a force from among those that followed him during the Blight."

"Perhaps." Franderel responded smoothly, silently cursing the telltale mutterings of his compatriots.

"I agree with your choice, my good sers. As much as I appreciate Anora's strength and intelligence I believe you correct in assuming that in the event of her being forced to listen to a privy council, whose members might just be strikingly similar to those assembled here, she would not respond with outright force. Rather, I think she would keep the conflict safely within the confines of the political arena and off the field of battle. No, Cousland is altogether too unpredictable and violent to reach such a…civilized understanding…with."

"So you stand with us, Jaerand?" squeaked on of the banns that had held her silence until this point, her voice crowded with excitement and nervousness.

* * *

Glancing sidelong at the young man, whose shield actually did look a little big for him, Ser Eir felt a pang of unfamiliar emotion. After a moment of reflection Eir decided it was compassion he felt for the orphan who had joined his command out of desperation. Awkwardly clearing his throat the captain began, "So…Feidh?" seeing the boy respond to the name Eir continued, pleased to have crossed the formidable obstacle that remembering a subordinate's name was, "Lost your family in the Blight, did you."

Surprised at the captain's attempt at humanity and on guard for a typically sadistic trick Feidh replied cautiously, "Yes, ser."

"Fled here to Denerim from our bannorn?"

"Yes, ser."

"Joined up for the steady pay and rations, did you." Eir continued, floundering helplessly in the depths of polite conversation.

"Yes, ser."

Silence fell between the two until, after much consideration, Eir managed to think of something else to say, "Why not join a mercenary outfit then. Better pay, more off-duty days…I've often thought of doing it myself."

"Well, ser, I wanted to stay in Denerim and with our bannorn devastated by the Blight I figured Bann Jaerand would live here for a time while mercenary companies would be wandering the country looking for work."

"Good thinking, son. But why Denerim? Life as a soldier is the same everywhere."

"I wanted to be here to help my sister."

"I though your family was dead."

"All except her."

"You didn't tell the bann that." Eir said reproachfully, though his voice quickly lightened, "And why should you? He'll never find out and you needed the sympathy to not get in trouble for falling asleep. Smart, lad."

"Thank you, ser."

"What's your sister do here?"

"Works, ser." Feidh replied as curtly as possible to a superior officer.

"Doing…"

"She's at the Pearl, ser."

"Oh."

"She's not a bad woman!" Feidh protested, "She didn't have a choice. We couldn't walk here alone from the south so a merchant caravan guarded by some mercenaries let us ride on their wagons as long as my sister..."

"I understand, boy, and I meant no disrespect to her. These are hard times and getting by is all that really matters. She did what she could to help her family and who can possibly do more than that, right."

"Right! It's the only way she's been able to make money. But now it's my turn and I'm going to earn enough money so she doesn't have to work there."

"Earn money as a guard?" Eir asked, unable to keep skepticism from his voice.

"Yes. I know it's not much money but I don't need a lot since room and board are taken care of for me so my sister gets the rest of it."

"You do know those expenses are deducted from our pay, right?"

"Well, yes…but there will still be enough left over for Ailanne, that's my sister, so that she can stop working at the Pearl and maybe be a washerwoman or something else and still get by. Once I finish paying off the bann for my new equipment in a few months that is."

"Good for you, lad."

"Thank you, ser."

Satisfied that his attempt at amiably interacting with a subordinate was successful the captain settled comfortably against the wall pleased with the companionable silence that now enveloped the mismatched pair of guardsmen. Soon, however, and much to Eir's displeasure the silence was ruined as the sound of singing reached his ears. The terrible, slurred singing that seemed to echo in the bottle that it was born from before being inflicted on any hapless listener. Straightening from his relaxed posture Eir was pleased to note that Feidh had similarly become alert, and this time without dropping his shield or hitting his head on anything.

Finally the distant singer rounded the hall's corner and came stumbling into the captain's sight. The momentary companionable spirit which had been brought about by Feidh's earnest determination disappearing in the face of dealing with the approaching drunken lout Eir's face resumed its typical glower.

"Soddin' great…not just any drunk servant but an elf." the captain grumbled to Feidh, his voice dripping disdain as the interloper neared.

His glare apparently failing to pierce the elf's blurred view of the world Eir drew his sword menacingly as the elf stopped in front of the two guards. "Hold, elf. The basements are off limits today. Best you be getting back to wherever you belong before I have to put you in irons."

"Well, how'sh I shupposhed to know? Should 'ave put up shingns or shomething, mate."

"We don't need to because there are guards at every staircase. How'd you get past them, knife-ears?"

"Didn't shee no guards, sher. Maybe they left early."

"Likely story, elf." Eir grumbled, though recalling the poor quality of the men and women, more properly boys and girls, under his command Eir knew the elf's statement was not implausible. Ignoring that moderating though the captain continued, "Why in the Maker's name are you down here, and dead drunk too. Are you dodging your job? Knife-ears are always doing that…can't trust you lot to do a good day's work."

"But Sher," the elf protested before taking a long pull from the bottle he had been waving about, "T,today'sh the bann'sh birffday."

"No it isn't. Now, get out of here lest I decide to teach you a lesson about lying to your betters."

"Then itsh the bann'sh shon'sh birffday."

"He only has daughters. Damn it, elf. I'm warning you…" Eir began, though quite what the warning was would remain a mystery forever as the swaying elf stumbled into the captain.

Rebounding from the armored figure he had run into and bouncing against the wall, which he then clung to in an attempt to stay upright despite the apparently tilting floor, the elf swore loudly as his bottle smashed against the stone and shattered just below where he held it in a stranglehold by the neck. Startled by the unexpected collision Ser Eir soon recovered and sheathed his sword, which the servant had luckily avoided impaling himself on. Motioning for Feidh to stay out of the way, though the young man had not yet moved, Eir stalked threateningly towards the unsteady elf flexing his gauntleted fists.

"Right then, that's it knife-ears. Let's teach you a lesson in respect."

Grabbing the elf's disheveled shirt in one hand to steady his swaying target Eir pulled the other back as a grin split his unpleasantly flushed face. Before his blow could fall, however, something caught the captain's eye. Blinking in confusion Eir delayed his strike as he noticed that the elf's eyes. Eyes that had previously possessed an unfocused, watery gaze now glinted with an amused, predatory look that Eir recognized from when the estate's cats caught a rat.

Before he had a chance to consider this abrupt transformation Eir saw what could only be called a blur of motion as the elf brought the broken bottle slicing against the arm that held the elf's shirt with. The jagged edges easily pierced the worn padding that covered the inside of his elbow where Ser Eir, like many long-serving soldiers, had removed his armor thinking that it hindered mobility. Mind working at unusual speed, though his body did not deign to follow, Eir watched in disbelief as his left arm released the elf and refused to follow any of his mind's commands as a quickly expanding patch of blood marred his uniform sleeve.

Looking questioningly at the elf Eir's surprised body had no time to react and could only watch as his smaller assailant kicked out with a booted foot that caught him in the knee. Body finally catching up with its wounds Eir immediately toppled to the side as his twisted knee gave out under the elf's expertly aimed blow to the accompanying sounds of snapping ligaments and bone grating on bone as the ruined joint failed under the large man's bulk. Opening his mouth to scream, not in an attempt to sound the alarm but simply from pain, Eir saw the bottom of a boot descend rapidly towards his head.

Seeing Eir fall to the ground, clearly no longer about to thrash the helpless elf, Feidh realized that something was terribly amiss. This realization soon found confirmation as he saw the elf's boot stomp on the captain's head in such a way that Eir's head twisted with a nauseating cracking sound and came to rest at an even more nauseatingly unnatural angle. Looking wide eyed at the elf who had now turned to face him Feidh's hand scrambled to draw his sword with a clumsiness induced by the numbing fear that coursed through his body vying with surging adrenaline for dominance. The captain's training failed its ultimate test as fear won and Feidh turned to run from the approaching killer.

Shrugging his shoulders at the second guardsman's flight the elf reached under his shirt and pulled free a short knife which he hefted for a moment before twirling it expertly. Confident in its weight the murderer sent it spinning from his hand as it flashed towards the boy's retreating back. Finding its mark below Feidh's helmet and above his back plate the knife buried itself in his neck as it sundered tissue and bone in its quest to reach the spinal column. Frantic flight instantly stopped Feidh fell to the ground with a resounding clatter as he dropped his shield for the second, and final, time that day.

Detached expression not flickering as he approached Feidh's still form the elf wrenched the knife free and wiped it clean on the guard's heraldic tabard before returning the blade to its concealed position underneath his clothing. Rolling the body over the killer squatted down to lift the deadweight by the armpits. Having maneuvered Feidh so that he lay facing upwards the elf began dragging him towards a nearby empty room. Watching disinterestedly as the paralyzed boy's eyes rolled about frantically as his mind slowly came to grasps with the death of its body the elf unceremoniously deposited the soon-to-be corpse into an empty wardrobe.

Eyes darting about as if attempting to make up for the rest of his body's sudden immobility Feidh knew he was dying. Dying, his still operational nose reported, in a pool of his own filth as his body's failure apparently included the bladder and bowels. Surprisingly accepting of the distinctly unheroic manner of his death Feidh simply sat where he had been dropped looking out the wardrobe's open doors as he waited. Soon, though time was now a tenuous concept at best for Feidh's numbed mind, the boy saw the murderous elf drag Ser Eir's body into the room and toss it into the wardrobe next to him. Eyes rapidly dimming Feidh watched as the assassin rifled through the pouches on Eir's belt until he had found the key ring. Darkness descending upon him, which was confusing because he couldn't remember closing his eyes, Feidh heard an almost forgotten voice call out to him, "Welcome, son, we've missed you. Now all we wait for is Ailanne."

Tucking the pilfered keys into his own belt the elf looked at the two corpses puzzled by the faint smile that seemed to tug at the dead boy's lips. Shaking off that useless speculation Zevran turned to leave the room.

* * *

Looking at the assembled banns who awaited his response Jaerand fixed the questioning woman with a cold stare, "Bann Fionn, I'm afraid I will not join in your little revolt."

"But you have to! I've talked to your eldest daughter and even she can see that we're right! Surely you don't…"

"Bann Jaerand," Franderel interrupted smoothly, throwing Fionn a silencing glance, "You must realize that this is a perfect opportunity to increase the banns' powers. As it stands Anora seems intent on concentrating power in the Crown and, therefore, away from the Landsmeet; a project she was quite adept at during Cailan's rule. Meanwhile, Aedan's position on royal precedence is undefined, though from what I've gathered by inquiring into his past and recent activities he behaves like a battlefield commander and expects to be obeyed as such. Based on this characteristic I do not feel optimistic concerning our ability to work with him as equals in the future.

Both monarchs are enemies of the Landsmeet, as history teaches us all strong rulers have been in the past. Ever since Calenhad first subjected the banns power has streamed from us into the Crown like a river into the sea. Moving sluggishly during times when the Crown was held by a weak personality, moving quickly during the reign of a strong one, and racing as if through rapids when our land is under threat from the outside. Now, I fear, the river approaches a waterfall. Under Anora's initial reign I felt the current pick up, though the ineptitude of Cailan slowed the waters. Then we hit the rapids as Ferelden's banns rushed to unite behind first the Crown and later the Warden in desperate want of a strong leader to face the darkspawn invasion. Only the confusion of Loghain's treachery stemmed that flood of centralizing power. Jaerand, I can hear the roaring from just around the bend as we approach a waterfall from which there will be no way to reverse, or even slow, the river's course.

Either of these monarchs, unchecked by fear of a united bannorn's power, will steer us over that precipice. We will become little more than impoverished families grasping desperately onto faded titles while memories of our once great and free forefathers weigh down our shoulders as we dance to the monarch's tune. Now, while the land is disarrayed by the Blight and the monarchy is riven between Mac Tir and Cousland, we are presented with a final chance to divert the river's course before it reaches the looming waterfall. Jaerand, we must seize this chance."

Nodding slowly in agreement with Franderel's impassioned speech Jaerand allowed the gathered banns a glimpse of hope before slamming that window firmly shut, "You are right in your estimation of the situation, Franderel. Where you err is to think that of the possible outcomes it is best to risk all to avoid being a relic of the past. I, for one, would rather be such a powerless relic than I want to be dead."

"Coward!" the excitable Fionn once again shouted.

"Coward?" Jaerand responded, "Perhaps, but a living one. Good sers, when you requested this meeting with me I arranged it here in this damp, dark room for two reasons. First, that it is a good, secure location for such dangerous talks as these. Second, that it used to be the dungeon of this estate before my father, who had an unreasonable dislike for interrogation, turned it into a root cellar. My point is that by holding such talks here you have the opportunity to observe firsthand the sort of quarters your plotting will reward you with.

I do not know precisely what each of your household forces are capable of but I feel no shame in admitting that after the bloodletting of the Blight and civil war my guard is destroyed. Apparently the only recruits I have are young men with ill-fitting armor who fall asleep on duty. And, with my lands being destroyed by the darkspawn I have no money for mercenaries, even if I wanted to rely on them." motioning to several of the seated nobles Jaerand continued, "Banns Caedmon, Fionn, Monntair, I know you must be in similar distress as me. Franderel, how many of your supporters are actually capable of supporting anything, let alone an attack on the man who led Ferelden's soldiers to victory over an archdemon?

All you have said is true, my fellow banns; where you are wrong is in thinking you can succeed. I believe your rebellion to be hopeless. Either of these sovereigns alone are strong enough to destroy you and faced by a revolt their division will probably be put aside long enough to ensure your destruction. You ask me to think of the future of my house and I am. My future descendants will be much better off living, as you say, clinging to past wealth and glory than they will having never lived at all because my entire household was put to the sword for treason."

Getting up from the table Jaerand moved towards the door bowing solemnly to the silent banns, "You may leave the same way you arrived. Wait here, I shall send my captain to see that you reach the secret passage without being discovered. Farewell."

Stepping out of the old dungeon Bann Jaerand latched the various locks before turning to find an empty hallway where Ser Eir and the sleeping recruit should have been. Feeling a sense of foreboding Jaerand drew the stiletto he kept concealed on his person and carefully examined his surroundings. Almost forgotten lessons from his childhood spent as a squire to an Antivan merchant-prince surfacing Jaerand noticed a faint discoloration on the nearby flagstones. Crouching to examine the spot noble found that it was not the blood he feared but rather a patch on the stone that looked as if someone had recently cleaned that particular area while leaving the rest untouched. The words of his old master reverberating in his memory adrenaline coursed through Jaerand as he recognized the thoroughness that marked a professional assassin's work. Heightened senses noticing further discolorations leading down the hallway towards the nearest staircase Jaerand edged the opposite way knowing that his unseen foe expected him to head for the upper floors immediately rather than risk more time spent in the depths of the estate's labyrinthine basements.

Trotting nearly silently as his old rogue instincts shook off their rust Jaerand found himself actually enjoying the immediacy of danger this game with the assassin presented in contrast to the amorphous, distant threats of politics. Moving past a dark alcove, the hallway's flickering torchlight unable to pierce its shadows, Jaerand froze as he felt a slight stirring of air on the back of his neck. Spinning around the bann dropped into a perfectly balanced dueling stance as he scanned the threatening darkness for what had disturbed the air.

Watching his prey whirl about, stiletto blade at the ready in a capable looking grip, Zevran remained in the concealing shadows of the recess he had found when scouting the basement halls earlier that day. Enjoying the tense standoff Zevran was loath to break it but knew such was necessary if he was to complete the mission. Speaking in a sibilant whisper that bounced off the stone walls concealing his exact location Zevran broke the silence, "Bann Jaerand, you have far more skill at this game than most Fereldens I have met. That is, unfortunately, not to your advantage."

Eyes darting about as his ears tried to pin down the speaker's position Jaerand answered, attempting to draw the conversation out until he discovered exactly where the invisible speaker was, "And just how is skill not helpful, assassin?"

"A professional, and you must know I am one, fears amateurs because they are stupid enough to make unexpected moves. You, however, have had just enough training to be predictable without being skilled."

"Then perhaps you'd care to enlighten me. How, pray tell, did you get me into this disadvantageous position?"

"I knew you lived in Antiva as a child and so figured you would be acquainted with the basics. Knowing this I simply set you a false trail."

"The smudges."

"Exactly. Well done, ser." Zevran said, sounding like a teacher proud of his pupil's progress, "I cleaned up your guard's blood expecting that you'd note their absence and find the smudges. Then, knowing from that technique that you were up against a Crow, you would run in the opposite direction having recognized what seemed to be a trap."

"Perhaps, assassin, though it still sounds like you had a fifty percent chance of which way I'd go and simply guessed right."

"You're right, of course." Zevran laughed, "But I _am _a Crow and so didn't take chances. I extinguished all the torches in the hallway going the other direction and planted poisoned caltrops all over the floor. Had you gone that way you'd be in just as much danger as now."

"So what do you want, assassin. I see that if it was my death you would have already accomplished that."

"Right once again, lord. I have not decided on your fate yet; you must answer a few questions first."

"I don't seem to have much choice."

"No, you don't. Now, shall we begin start? How have you arranged for the other banns in the root-cellar to leave the estate undetected?"

"Through a secret passage."

"The one that leads into the bakery next door?"

"…yes." Jaerand responded, sounding truly shaken for the first time.

"And did you agree to join their conspiracy? Think carefully for this is the question that decides if you live or die."

Seeing a glimmer of hope Jaerand hurriedly explained, "So you're here hunting traitors! I promise I did not join their plot. Ask them yourselves after you capture them and they'll say I refused to betray our rightful rulers."

"Commendable stance, ser. Unfortunately not the right one."

Frowning in confusion at that statement Jaerand didn't even have time to flinch before the steel of Zevran's thrown dagger slammed into his cheek bone shattering teeth on its way to stabbing into the back of his mouth. Sinking to his hands and knees Jaerand desperately spat out bright, crimson blood as he struggled to keep his lungs clear of the suffocating fluid. Losing that battle the bann soon collapsed onto his side as coughs wracked his body, each painful assault on his damaged mouth sending a froth of blood flying from his lips as both lifeblood and air escaped Jaerand's dying body.

Confident that his target was no longer the slightest threat Zevran emerged from the safety of the shadows and walked up to where the man lay convulsing. Casually going through Jaerand's clothing Zevran pocketed the gold he found there before moving on to prying the rings from the bann's fingers. Frowning at a particularly ornate ring that refused to budge from its finger Zevran picked up the fallen bann's stiletto and inserted its thin blade into the second knuckle of Jaerand's finger. Sliding the blade about in a practiced maneuver any butcher would be envious of the elf soon severed the ligaments and muscles that held the joint together. Ignoring the increasingly loud gurgling sounds Jaerand was making Zevran gave the loosened finger a sharp twist and pulled it off the bann's hand; scooping up the ring that now slid easily off the digit's bloody stump. As he pulled the last bejeweled ring from the man's hand Zevran heard Jaerand's gasping breath stop after a final, choking exhalation.

* * *

"What do we do now? Will Jaerand inform on us? Franderel, what do you plan to do without Jaerand's support?"

Feeling the onset of the headache that so frequently accompanied Bann Fionn's incessant, shrill worrying Franderel interrupted her nagging, "Calm yourself Fionn. Jaerand will not tell the Crown for the simple reason that to do so would mark him forever as an informer and no informer has ever been respected…even by those he helps."

Though settling down somewhat Fionn was still somewhat frantic, "But can this coup continue without Jaerand's support?"

"It is unfortunate he has chosen not to side with us as his influence would ensure that several other banns would also give their support but this is a setback that, though severe, we can recover from. Who knows, perhaps Jaerand will even change his mind."

Hearing a cold voice slither over the group, its tone dripping menace, Franderel looked with barely concealed distaste at the emotionless eyes of Bann Caedmon, "You are too optimistic, friend, we all know Jaerand's support would align several of the other small bannorns behind us. Without him, who knows? Perhaps, Franderel, we should simply kill Jaerand. His heir, after all, has told Fionn he supports our aims."

"Your zeal is commendable, Caedmon, but I think such…drastic…methods are best avoided. We want to present ourselves as guardians of the Landsmeet's traditional power and killing banns who disagree with us will make us appear tyrants if proof, or even suspicion, of the deed were ever found."

"Your nobility does you credit, Franderel, but I hope it doesn't turn out to hurt this endeavor."

"We shall see." Franderel responded before holding up a hand to silence the other banns, "But let us discuss this later. Quiet now, I hear the door being unlocked. Our escort must have finally arrived."

Standing from the table they had clustered around the five conspirators saw the door open and a figure silhouetted by the hallway's torches beckon them to follow. Emerging from the old dungeon Franderel looked at the guide in surprise, suspicion coloring his voice, "Are you the guard captain…Ser?"

"Temporarily."

"But the captain that led us here this morning was, well, human."

"I'm captain of the night guard, Ser Eir's off duty now."

"Oh, well in that case, my good elf, lead on." Franderel said politely, unsettled by the way the elf's glinting eyes flicked from his face to those of his companions as if memorizing every detail.

* * *

Smiling at the breathless mewling sounds coming from the woman underneath him Aedan dipped his head down catching her lips with his and drinking in the arousing sound of his bard's pleasure. Her hands leaving the sheets they had been gripping Leliana reached around Aedan's neck pulling him further down as she returned his kiss; unconsciously matching the pace of Aedan's slow thrusts with her questing tongue. Pulling away from her mouth Aedan's movements picked up speed as he stared into Leliana's light, blue eyes the desire there reflected in his own green ones. Feeling her hips roll against him in response Aedan adjusted his angle in her slightly wringing a louder moan from the bard as he stretched her in a new way. Spurred on by Leilana's hands which had now entwined themselves in his hair, tugging in a painful way that served only to enhance the pleasure he felt, Aedan's thrusts lost their regular pace as man's primal instinct took over. Breathing becoming heavier he felt Leliana tighten around him in response prompting Aedan to give several quick, erratic thrusts before burying himself completely in the bard's heat as he reached climax.

Slowly rolling off her Aedan lay next to Leliana playfully grumbling between gasps for breath, "You'll…be…the…death…of me…woman. I'm not a…golem…I do need rest sometimes."

"But what…a way to go, no?" Leliana responded, equally deprived of air.

Rolling atop the prostrate man Leliana rubbed herself against his chest; enjoying the feeling of their sweat dampened skin alternately sliding and sticking against each other as her sensitive nipples dragged over his muscled chest. Staring into Aedan's eyes Leliana enjoyed watching as they widened briefly before closing in bliss as her wandering hand trailed down his side and across his hip before finally reaching his softening manhood. Stroking him encouragingly the bard whispered, careful to keep her voice carefree, "And with your impending marriage you must train now if you are to keep both your wife and me satisfied in the future."

Squealing as Aedan's arms circled her back crushing her against his chest as he rolled over pinning her once again to the mattress Leliana's stomach clenched as she saw her lover's bright, green eyes darken with promise. Licking her lips expectantly Leliana's breath quickened as Aedan spoke, voice growling with desire, "I will train to please only you. Anora's bed will be cold as spinsterhood overtakes her and she will forever look at you with envy."

"A jealousy I share; you lucky, Orlesian minx." a voice leered from the nearby balcony.

Sighing in resignation Aedan released Leliana and slid off her as he left the bed and quickly threw on a thick robe, "Zevran, your sense of timing is, as always, impeccable."

"True, Warden, though I can't help but notice your reaction is far less…exercised…than it used to be in such situations."

"Zev, you've interrupted us so many times I'm almost surprised when I don't hear your lecherous applause upon finishing."

Nodding acceptance of this statement the assassin turned to face Leliana who sat glaring at him from the bed, sheets drawn up over her chest, "And you, Leliana, you call yourself a bard? Why, I've been standing on the balcony for several minutes and you didn't even notice me. You're getting rusty."

"I am not, you miserable boor. I was just…distracted."

"And quite understandably so. But enough small talk, I can tell by your lover's impatient foot-tapping that he awaits my report." Zevran said with a dramatic, put-upon sigh, "To business. As Leliana's informant reported Franderel's coterie of traitors visited Jaerands' estate to convince him to join their endeavor."

"And did he?"

"Regrettably not. So, as you instructed I eliminated him leaving, of course, no trace."

"Perfect, now his foolish daughter will join the plot and they might actually become emboldened enough to begin an armed revolt."

Still glaring at the intruding elf Leliana interrupted Aedan's exulting, "And did you discover who else besides Franderel visited Jaerand?"

"Of course, my dear. Banns Fionn, Monntair, Caedmon, and Annwell were with him."

"Thank you, Zevran, a completely successful mission. I told you I'd not let you get bored if you stayed here in Denerim with me!" turning to the bard Aedan continued, "It is just as you suspected, Leliana, these are all Ceorlic's men."

Finally getting up from the bed, carefully keeping the sheets draped about her as concealment from Zevran's hungry gaze, Leliana stepped quickly behind a nearby privacy screen. Resigned to the fact that her fun was over for the moment as Aedan's mind left love for plotting the bard began strapping on her light armor as she called out to Aedan, "_Mon cheri,_ I'm going to take a look about the palace tonight to see if I can't discover how unwanted guests keep penetrating our supposedly tight security."


	6. Chapter 6: Blind Devotion

**A/N: **_**Italics **_**are flashbacks.**

**As always, please leave a review.**

Blind Devotion

Head held high…but not arrogantly. Escort impressive…but not intimidating. Clothing the finest money could buy…but not gaudy. Retinue respectful…but not fawning. Pace quick…but not scurrying. Expression serene…but not dismissive. Perfect.

Knowing she would have to be satisfied with mere human perfection Anora walked down the palace's broad stairs and onto the paving stones of the square that fronted the seat of Ferelden politics. Passing the serried ranks of her personal guard Anora strode towards the ponderously opening palace gates as her retinue fell in behind their queen. Voice expertly pitched to be lost in Denerim's street noise and inaudible by anyone more than a yard away from her Anora whispered to her shadowing handmaiden, "I hated this ritual the first time round and it has certainly not gotten less onerous the second time."

"My lady, surely you find it a relief to be able to waste…I mean devote…an entire day to peaceful, uninterrupted religious rituals rather than facing the many demands of ruling a nation?"

"Erlina, you are possessed of a tongue sharp enough to cut yourself with."

"Thank you, my lady." Erlina responded as silence fell between the irritated royal and her handmaiden.

"Maker's balls." Anora moaned several minutes later, the coarse, soldier's oath learned from her father bringing tears to her eyes which were quickly blinked away. "I swear the Chantry makes this sort of ritual up solely to vex the Crown."

"Quite possibly so, my lady." Erlina said simply, knowing that in this sour mood Anora did not actually care about her response.

"See, look at that! I even ordered the street swept but all it took was one peasant driving his cart through after the sweepers pass and I'm forced to dodge ox excrement while still trying to maintain a royal bearing. Damn it, this is precisely why I always use carriages."

"At least there hasn't been a sudden rain squall this time. Remember how your white purification robes last time…"

"Yes, that is enough, Erlina, I do not wish to recall that particular event." Anora hissed as she avoided the offending bovine waste with the grace of one trained by imported Orlesian dance instructors, "Thank you for putting this into perspective."

"My pleasure, Your Majesty."

"Erlina, you only call me Majesty when you're going to tell me something I don't want to hear." Anora stated, "You know I appreciate your observations so please, out with it already."

"As you wish, Your Majesty. I can't help but notice that you seem far more displeased with this procession than you did before your wedding to Cailan. I was wondering if there is something else that bothers you."

"It is simply that I now fully understand what this ritual entails."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Erlina responded blandly as a brewing silence fell between the two women.

Voice heavy with brittle sarcasm Anora suddenly broke the silence, "What do you think, Erlina, will I be struck down for this blasphemy?"

"Blasphemy, my lady?"

"This robe. Surely it's a sin to wear virginal white to your second purification ritual." prompted by Erlina's expertly held silence Anora continued after a quick glance about to reassure herself that no one was close enough to overhear her whispers, "You know what they did last time. The hours spent kneeling on stones as I prayed for forgiveness, the ritual burning of a lock of my hair strand by strand after each prayer to cleanse me just as Andraste had been purified by fire before joining the Maker. And that was only the opening act. The real show was the embarrassing examinations the priestesses carried out to ensure my virginity, fertility, and general health. How am I to pass such tests after already being married once? A marriage, incidentally, that produced no children even as it consumed the prime years of my life. I am the queen and must maintain the aura of royalty that is the cornerstone of the Crown; how can I do that when tradition demands I submit to the Chantry's time-honored humiliation?"

"Perhaps you'll simply have to burn more a larger lock of hair this time, my lady."

"Perhaps." Anora agreed, a brief smile tugging at her carefully composed mask.

Soon after the unexpected, oxen produced obstacle course Anora's procession began climbing a small hill that stood midway between the palace and Denerim's cathedral. Cresting the rise Anora halted her escort taking the opportunity to survey her capital from this vantage point which, aside from the tower of Fort Drakon, possessed the best view of the city.

"It's so sad." Erlina whispered as she gazed out over the city's ruins.

Nodding mutely Anora's icy, blue eyes studied the tattered city as her mind remembered the sights she had witnessed in the Blight's immediate aftermath.

_Walking confidently through the grim hallways of Fort Drakon Anora neared the main hall's heavy, wooden doors. Slowing as her ears perked at the muffled sounds coming from behind the gate Anora steeled herself for what she knew lay beyond the rapidly approaching door. Nodding at the two glassy-eyed guards who stood by the doorway Anora swallowed hard as they reluctantly moved to open the sole barrier that stood between them and the horrors beyond. Pausing in his movement one of the guards gave Anora and her handmaiden's clean, expensive clothing a questioning look, "You two don't look like healers, ma'am. Are you sure you want to go in there?"_

_ "It is a Queen's duty to see to those that suffer under her command."_

_ Seeing the blank looks of the two guards and Anora's growing irritation at their inaction Erlina quickly interrupted the unnecessary standoff, "From your heraldry I see that you men are from Redcliffe, no? So I assume you have never seen Queen Anora and would not recognize her…but you might recognize the royal seal."_

_ Holding her hand out, the golden signet ring shining dully in the torchlight, Anora was disappointed at lack of instant, abject contrition in the guards' expressions as they simply looked at each other resignedly and turned back to the doors. The doors swinging open before her Anora cursed her squeamishness as she blanched at the sudden assault on her senses, though her embarrassment was reduced as she noticed the two guards already wan faces grow even paler. Forcing her feet forwards, steadied inconspicuously by Erlina's guiding hand on her elbow, she walked into the awaiting maelstrom._

_ Moving down the central aisle that ran the length of the hall Anora kept her eyes fixed on the door at the opposite end and away from the sights that surrounded her as she frantically tried to acclimate to the aura of suffering which raged about her. The noises, however, were horrible enough on their own that her imagination did not struggle to supply accompanying images to the sounds. Crashing against her eardrums a low, distressed murmur filled Anora's hearing as its volume ebbed and flowed in macabre imitation of the surf that pounded the shorelines of Gwaren._

_ Layered atop this base of suffering were further sounds that stabbed at Anora's composure. There were the shrill cries of unbearable agony, the guttural grunts of a warrior attempting to master the pain, the panicked pleas of those fearing death, the gasping and coughing of someone struggling to breath through blood filled lungs. But more horrible than all of those sounds were the abrupt silences. Her ear drawn irresistibly by the louder notes of agony that rose above the background suffering Anora felt her carefully guarded composure slipping not when a new cry rang out but rather each time one of those notes ended. The gasping, growling, crying, begging, screaming all meant that a man or woman was alive, suffering but alive. The sudden absence of these noises ended seemed to create an unbearable cacophony of silence as Anora hoped the abruptly quiet sufferer had simply surrendered to merciful unconsciousness._

_ Hope, however, had no purchase in this room as human suffering hammered at every sense. Like her ears Anora's nose also wandered the room against her will; dragging her tongue along for the ride as the two senses worked in tandem to further pull her under the sea of despair she was struggling to stay afloat in. Suffusing the air, heavy in every breath she took, the coppery taste of blood and the sour smell of human waste turned Anora's stomach. A turning which rapidly became a wringing, cramping sensation as she passed a patch of air that carried the bitter taste of bile to her mouth and the stench of vomit to her nose._

_ Mastering her suddenly racing breath Anora's heart fell completely as she heard a quiet voice reach up tentatively to her battered ears, "Help, please help me. I can't die, my wife and children are waiting for me at home. Please help me."_

_ Willing herself to take her eyes off the haven represented by the distant doorway Anora reluctantly began turning to face the speaker. Forced to leave the safety of their previous tunnel vision Anora's eyes swept across the room as she turned observing, in Anora's mind, far too many of the details surrounding her. Stretched out before her in a grim parody of carpeting the bodies of men and women alternately writhed slowly and jerked spasmodically where they lay. No order prevailed as bodies were strewn haphazardly about the room in a tableau of the dead and dying. The lucky ones lay on makeshift stretchers or beds of soiled cloth but the majority lay on the hard, stone floor or leaned painfully against walls and crates._

_ Picking their way among the bodies several types of people were active. The majority of these were unwounded soldiers, though in many cases only unwounded compared to the bodies on the floor, who were desperately trying to help a friend they had brought to this charnel house. Scattered here and there a mage wandered, their normally bright robes stained with blood and other filth, casting healing spells on the most grievously wounded. Also hovering over the injured were what the guard must have meant by healers, a catchall phrase for the surgeons, nurses, dentists, veterinarians, midwives…anyone with the slightest medical knowledge._

_ Choking back another wave of nausea as she saw an elderly man expertly pin a groaning woman's arm down by sitting on her shoulder Anora stared in morbid fascination, unable to tear her eyes away from the unfolding scene. Placing a block of wood between the woman's teeth the man pulled out a sharp knife and worked it between the bloodstained scale armor that covered the arm he was restraining. Quickly cutting the obstructing metal free from its leather backing the man motioned for his assistant, a lad whose pimpled face was not yet out of puberty, to hold the soldier's lower arm. The block falling from her mouth as she began frantically thrashing about the soldier's groans reaching a crescendo of agonized screaming that hurt Anora's ears as the youth firmly pressed the mangled remains of her lower arm to the floor Picking up a second knife the man brought the serrated edge down to the woman's forearm right above where her arm became a bloody mass of mingled bone, flesh, and shattered armor. Ignoring the screams the man sliced through flesh until he hit bone. Exchanging the knife for a bloodstained saw the man began cutting through the soldier's forearm with quick, practiced strokes that caused the screaming to reach a new, keening height._

_ Finally wrenching her eyes away from the scene, though not in the manner she intended, Anora bent double and vomited. Her retching ceasing Anora stood; gaze involuntarily drawn back to the amputation by the sudden, echoing silence that had replaced the cries of the injured woman. Standing above the body the old man wiped the bloody saw off on his even bloodier shirt and moved to the next patient. Taking a moment before hurrying after his jaded elder the youthful aide leaned over the woman and closed her eyelids, his mouth whispering a brief prayer, before also moving on to the next person._

_ "Please, my Queen, help me."_

_ Startled out of her horrified reverie Anora looked down at the speaker. Propped against a water barrel the soldier looked at her imploringly with pain filled eyes that peered up at her from under a mat greying hair that was plastered against his fever dampened forehead. Kneeling in front of the man Anora recognized the double bears rampant of the King's guard emblazoned on his tattered, gore encrusted tabard. Taking a cup of water from Erlina who had filled it from the nearby barrel Anora tilted the knight's head back and brought the liquid to his lips as she supported his head._

_ "Thank…you, Your Majesty." the old soldier managed to gasp between coughs as his parched throat choked on the water. _

_ Handing the now empty vessel back to her handmaiden Anora forced a smile through her welling tears, "Tell me, ser, what is your name."_

_ "Driscol, Your Majesty."_

_ "And I see from the device you wear that you serve in the King's guard." Anora stated, the unspoken question of his escape from Ostagar hovering in the air._

_ "No, my Queen, my service ended long ago. I served King Maric and had happily set my arms aside years ago in exchange for settling down running a tavern by the docks and raising my children."_

_ Tearing a strip of cloth from her dress Anora dampened it in the cup Erlina had refilled. Wiping the cooling cloth against the man's fever heated skin Anora continued, "The docks were largely untouched by the horde. Your service accomplished its goal and kept your family safe. Now, Ser Driscol, tell me where you are hurt and I shall do what I can to help you."_

_ "I am beyond help, Your Majesty." lifting his arm, the pain of the effort clear on his face, Driscol exposed his side where a tear in his chain mail slowly oozed a thick, yellow pus._

_ "Erlina, support his arm." Anora ordered, pleased her voice had managed to stay unshaken despite her dread at what must lie beneath the concealing armor. Forcing her hands to move Anora slid the hauberk over Driscoll's head revealing the padding he wore underneath. Using a small knife Erlina handed her Anora sliced the padded jerkin open to reveal the wound. Breathing a small sigh of relief at the sight of the small, almost bloodless cut, Anora moved to wipe away the pus to reveal the wound's true extent._

_ "No! Your Majesty, stop. Do not touch it."_

_ Ignoring Driscol's protests as some sort of hindering, misplaced, masculine pride Anora continued moving her hand towards the wound, "I need to see if the blade slid between your ribs or not…"_

_ Wrenching his arm away form Erlina's steadying grasp Driscol toppled to the floor. Lying there breathing heavily at the exertion Driscol looked up at the queen's confused face, "The wound did not pierce my ribcage. I am dying because it was a poisoned blade the cursed shriek pierced me with. Do not touch the wound for I do not know whether any poison remains there and I will not risk you being exposed to it."_

_ "Poison?" Erlina inquired, confusion clear in her voice, "How long have you been here? Most poisons would not result in a fever like this soon after being administered."_

_ "I've lain here since the Fort was taken."_

_ "But that was almost two days ago!" Erlina gasped._

_ "Erlina, stay with him; I will find a healer who knows of poisons." Anora commanded as she stood and moved swiftly through the nightmarish room._

_ Returning quickly with a harried looking mage Anora pointed at Driscol, "Tend to him."_

_ "As you wish, Majesty."_

_ Wiping at Driscol's weeping wound with a cloth he quickly discarded lest it contaminate him the mage watched as more pus immediately flowed from the wound's infection reddened edges. "I am sorry, Ser, but I'm afraid the infection is too far spread for me to heal. Had it been caught earlier…"_

_ "What do you mean?" Anora demanded, voice unpleasantly shrill in her own ears._

_ "Medicine and magic cannot heal this now. Prayer is the best hope at this point." The mage responded wearily, clearly hating the oft-used words._

_ "Prayer…" looking up from the doomed man Anora noticed for the first time the dozens of chanting figures that stood atop several raised, wooden platforms that lined the makeshift field hospital. _

_ Grunting as Erlina and the mage helped him sit back up Driscol looked at Anora, "Thank you, My Queen. It has been an honor to serve Ferelden. Now go, help others not yet beyond hope."_

_ Laying her hands on his shoulders Anora leaned forwards placing a light kiss on the veteran soldier's fever dampened forehead. Pulling back she looked firmly into his fever clouded eyes with her own clear, steely gaze, "Ser Driscol, may you find favor in the Maker's sight." As the words left her mouth the agony etched on the soldier's face fell away as his recent exertions sent him into the soft embrace of unconsciousness._

_ "Mage," Anora called out, her voice eerily emotionless, "Are there many in similar straits to Ser Driscol here."_

_ "You mean lying untended? Yes, there are simply not enough mages and healers to help everyone."_

_ "I see. Thank you for helping me here, you may return to your other duties." Turning to her handmaiden Anora noticed the tears running down the elf's face, "Erlina, stop weeping. Tears help no one but yourself and of all those in this wretched place we have the least need of comfort."_

_ "Yes, your Majesty." the elf sniffled as she wiped angrily at the tracks in her makeup wondering at the queen's sudden composure._

_ "Come, there are many that need our help."_

_ Striding through the human detritus that littered the blood slicked floor Anora ignored the pitiful pleas that reached her ears as she walked past dozens of suffering soldiers. Following in the queen's wake Erlina looked helplessly at the broken men and women her mistress was blithely ignoring. Swallowing the sorrow that blocked her throat Erlina gathered her courage, "Your Majesty, should we not help one of these poor souls?"_

_ Not bothering to slow her pace to look at her handmaiden Anora responded as the pair reached the stairs to one of the raised platforms, "I am a poor nurse, Erlina, having no training and little natural aptitude. I am, however, an excellent ruler and I shall ease the suffering of many by remembering that fact. Erlina, look at the fools standing on top of this platform. All Chantry sisters have at least a working knowledge of medicine and yet here they stand wasting that precious skill as they chant useless blessings to the dying rather than attempting to ensure that these soldiers do not require such benedictions."_

_ Mounting the stairs Anora swept up to a sister who stood administering indiscriminate blessings with her arms outstretched over the room's horrific suffering. Grabbing the chanter's shoulder Anora spun the woman around interrupting her recitation of the Chant._

_ "Sister, enough of your endless prayers. Get down off this pulpit and see to it that as few of these unfortunates will actually need those blessings as is humanly possible." anger building further as the woman did not immediately obey Anora's fraying temper snapped, "Now, worm! See to the wounded or I promise you will join them."_

_ Fleeing the blonde's anger, something in Anora's voice informing the sister that these were not empty threats, the chanter ran down the stairs and began tending to a soldier who had a broken bone protruding from his thigh. Satisfied at this Anora scanned the remaining sisters who stood on the platform eyeing her as one would a potentially rabid stray. Spotting the more elaborate robes of a reverend mother Anora walked up the older woman as acolytes scattered before her implacable advance._

_ Voice perfectly pitched to cut commandingly through the room's din Anora issued her orders with the confidence of one groomed for the throne her whole life, "Your Reverence, I expect you to lead your sisters off this tower and out among the suffering this instant."_

_ Eyes flashing with the treacherous fires of apocalyptic expectation the mother responded, "But, Your Majesty, we must prepare the souls of the dying…"_

_ "Silence, fool. You are murders, all of you, and unless you atone for that sin I will see you executed."_

_ "Murderers! What do you mean by this, this baseless…"_

_ "Brave men and women lie below, you have the means to help yet do nothing. Your failure to help is a sin and I will hold you responsible for every unnecessary death in this room."_

_ "In these times death is merely a pleasant release…"_

_ "There will be nothing pleasant about the death I will give you." Anora snarled as she turned to Erlina, "Go back to the Fort's gates where we left my escort and bring them here."_

_ Recognizing the same rage in Anora's expression that had seen her father emerge victorious against all foes save one Erlina hurried to obey; Anora's haranguing of the useless reverend mother following her as she raced for the doorway. Returning several minutes later with a score of elite guardsmen clanking through the halls behind her Erlina rushed through the doorway; and came to an abrupt halt. The platforms lining the hall were all bare as several dozen chantry brothers and sisters now moved among the injured dressing wounds and removing the dead on stretchers. Standing atop a crate in the very center of the hall stood Anora surrounded by a gaggle of healers, mages, and the relatively healthy soldiers. Approaching her mistress Erlina's keen hearing heard Anora's words rising clearly above the background sounds of human suffering._

_ "Briac, you and the other mages look at every soul in here. Heal those in need of immediate aid and ignore those you deem can wait. Ser Cerdwin, have the able bodied soldiers follow the mages moving the patients as they tell you to. Those that need immediate surgery take to where the doctors and veterinarians are working over in the corner. Those that are deemed able to wait place along the east wall; Mother Saraid, your sisters will tend to them there. The dead take out of here and place in the armory for now."_

_ "Yes, Your Majesty" the ragtag group chorused._

_ The cluster of exhausted, blood spattered people surrounding her scattering with a fresh sense of purpose Anora looked up to observe the organization of her tiny realm. Catching sight of Erlina and the approaching guardsmen Anora called out to the guard captain, "Ser Mylor, have half your troop help move the wounded." Gesturing to where a small knot of furious looking sisters stood apart from the bustling activity Anora continued, "The other half will escort those prisoners to the palace where I want them held until I, and only I, order them released."_

_ Watching in disgust as her guard ushered the chantry sisters towards the door Anora's lip curled at their frenzied proclamations, "The darkspawn are the Maker's scourge. We deserve this suffering for our transgressions. There is no true happiness on this world; only pain and loss. Ignore the prisons of your flesh and look instead to your souls. Only through Andraste can we be forgiven."_

_ A ripple of unease spread out in their wake as the dire ravings burrowed into the small doubts indigenous to every soul and found fertile ground to grow in. Watching as the surrounding people looked between her and the arrested clerics Anora felt her control of the situation slipping. Projecting her voice so that it reached every corner of the hall and reverberated in everyone's mind Anora called out, "Wretches! How dare you condemn those who suffer here with visions of damnation? For it is written, 'Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written.' Here, right here in this room surrounding you is the blood of the righteous that the Maker has used to write us all a message. A message of hope. Life, with all its accompanying hope and despair, joy and pain, is ours so long as men and women such as these are willing to fight for it. Be gone from here, harpies, for these brave souls fought for our lives and now we shall fight for theirs regardless of your lunatic ravings."_

_ Pushed out of the room by suddenly disdainful guards the last, half-hearted predictions of doom shouted by the arrested contingent of clerics fell on deaf ears as the room around them resumed its purposeful activity under Anora's watchful eye. Rolling up her silk sleeves Anora stepped down from her crate and began moving among the numberless wounded that crowded the room. Smiling to her handmaiden Anora whispered, "Religion is a double edged sword, something the wielders of it often forget."_

Looking over her city Anora's vision swept across Denerim's wounds. Vast swathes of the city lay ruined; smoking as fires continued smoldering in crumbled buildings. The river Hafter's course was full of debris, from charred beams to gas bloated corpses, as it lethargically emptied its refuse into the sea. Outside the sundered city walls endless fields of squalid, makeshift tents sat where the city's surviving population huddled every night as they rested from frantically trying to repair their homes before winter's deadly arrival.

Looking at her handmaiden Anora finally responded, "No, this is not a sad sight. It is a despicable one. This is just like in Fort Drakon, Erlina, and the culprit is the same."

Gesturing towards their destination Anora drew the elf's attention to the where the damaged spire of Denerim's cathedral loomed over the stricken city. The fire-blackened tower reached into the sky surrounded by intricate scaffolding upon which scores of tiny figures scuttled about. "That building is being rebuilt in marble and gold while the homes of my subjects are patched with wattle and daub. The Chantry controls wealth second only to the Crown but does not expend its monies on anything other than its own aggrandizement. I am currently emptying the royal coffers as I loan money to merchants, nobles, even peasants needing seed money in an attempt to stave off Ferelden's complete economic collapse. All the Chantry offers, meanwhile, are two gold here, and fifty silver there on its Chanter's boards as its storeroom bulge with grain and gold."

Arm sweeping to encompass the growing shanty town and ruined city Anora's voice hardened, "They neglect the basic needs of my people as they build grandiose edifices that are supposed to reflect the Maker's glory but in which I see only humanity's omnipresent greed and lust for power and status. I need their wealth, Erlina, and for my people's sake I _will_ have it."

Resuming her measure pace Anora moved down the hill towards the cathedral and her religious observances.

* * *

Aedan spun about; his wooden sword smashing into the practice dummy's neck with faultless precision. Shaking the sweat from his eyes he set down the sword and turned to face the entrance as he heard the familiar, halting steps his brother now walked with coming down the hall. Not waiting for Fergus to show himself Aedan called out, "Brother, come in. It's always a pleasure to see you."

"Heard me limping along, eh?" Fergus said wryly as he stepped through the open doorway.

"Oh no, I could smell you."

"Some Warden thing?"

"Not really, not unless you're a darkspawn. It's more you reeking of that nauseating incense they're always burning in the palace chantry that alerted me. No wonder Initiates are celibate with all the time they spend in that smelly air."

"Then you'll be pleased to hear that I do not intend on joining the Chantry."

"Very pleased indeed, Fergus. Why, if you don't mind me asking, did you finally decide this?"

"I spoke with Leliana and what she said rang true. I've though about my motivations in joining the Chantry, spoken with the Reverend Mother about it, and then thought some more. The decision I've reached is that the Chantry is not my path."

"What is your path, brother?"

"To honor the memory of the fallen. I will return to Highever and make sure that all those who died defending the Couslands did not do so in vain. There will always be a Teyrn Cousland enthroned at Castle Highever and I shall do that duty to the best of my ability. You want to bring the Cousland name into a glorious future and, while I will support you as a brother should, my focus will be on honoring our past."

"I'm proud of you, brother, and have every confidence in your ability." Aedan exclaimed clapping his brother joyously on the shoulder before his expression grew more somber, "But you realize as Teyrn it will be unavoidable that you remarry and sire children."

Nodding firmly Fergus answered, "I know. It will not be easy but many other widowers have found happiness a second time and perhaps I will too. Regardless of that I realize political marriages are an unavoidable necessity for one in my position. Don't worry, Aedan, you shall have your dynasty."

"I'm happy for you, Fergus." Aedan said hugging his brother, "And, for what it's worth, I truly think this is the best thing for you to do regardless of my own ambitions. Come, let us go have a celebratory ale or two… or possibly more. We'll discuss the details of recapturing Highever and the playing political games later; for now we celebrate."


	7. Chapter 7: Fanaticism pt1

**A/N: Unlike my other chapters this follows immediately after the last one with no time lost in between. Also, this is the first part of Fanaticism; the second part is nearly done but I decided to separate them as otherwise the chapter is too long.**

** Thank you to those who have taken the time to review this story and please continue to do so. Those of you who are reading and not reviewing please consider doing so as it can only improve this story for your future reading pleasure.**

Fanaticism pt. 1

"Aedan, it's only several hours after sunrise! We can't start drinking now…the servants will be gossiping about it for weeks. Keep this up and in no time at all you'll have earned the sobriquet 'the Sodden' to accompany Warden, Hero of Ferelden, and whatever else you're now called."

"Quit worrying, Fergus. If tongues start wagging I'll just blame it on your bad influence." Aedan chuckled as he strolled through the castle as fast as Fergus' pace would allow, "An impression I hope will be reinforced by the wonderfully debauched bachelors party you're planning for me."

"Oh yes, that…I've spoken to the palace's Reverend Mother and she was more than happy to let us reserve the entire chapel for your party. I thought we'd begin with the traditional devotions begging forgiveness for our manifold sins and then move on to more event-appropriate prayers that beseech the Maker to bless your upcoming matrimony with love and children." Walking into his brother's back as Aedan froze in place Fergus bit his lip hard enough to draw blood in an attempt to keep from laughing.

"That's a very…nice…sounding party, Fergus; and Maker knows I'll need help in those two areas with Anora but we really shouldn't impose ourselves in such a way. Surely there are others who would be devastated if they could not use the chapel for an entire night."

"Hmm, I hadn't thought of that, Aedan." Fergus mused before a wide smile finally broke across his face as Aedan's horrified face turned towards him, "In that case we'll have to settle for finding the most intact tavern Denerim has to offer and getting uproariously drunk while trying to slap the serving wench's bottom."

"I'll get you back for that one, brother."

"I'm sure you'll try." Fergus responded as the two resumed walking down the hall.

Reaching Aedan's suite Fergus settled himself into a comfortable plush chair that was complete with a matching ottoman for his sore leg while Aedan retrieved an unusually shaped bottle from a nearby cupboard.

"Legacy White Shear…I've been saving this for months now, Fergus." Aedan commented as he poured the clear liquid into a pair of chalices, "Carried it in my own personal pack during the Blight so that drunken dwarf Oghren couldn't get his thieving hands on it."

"Its…glowing."

"Wynne said it was imbued with lyrium."

"And it appears to be changing colors."

"Hmm, that is strange."

"And you want to drink it?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Well, I can think of many reasons…but I've never let you out-drink me before and I don't plan on starting now. Cheers, Aedan."

"Cheers, Fergus."

Looking at their drinks through suddenly watering eyes the two brothers simultaneously began coughing, "Maker's breath!" Aedan eventually gasped.

"I can't feel my toes."

"Good thing you're sitting then, huh?"

"I've never had a lyrium infused drink before." Fergus commented as he unsteadily refilled the two goblets.

Several minutes later, after another White Shear induced coughing fit had passed, Aedan interrupted the silence. "You think it's normal that the walls appear to be…melting?"

"I don't know." Fergus said thoughtfully as he stared out the window, "But the stars sure are beautiful."

"Leliana told me a story about one of those stars once. It was about Alindra, the first female chevalier; I have never thought of the stars the same way since." Brow furrowing in sudden confusion Aedan's reverie ended, "Wait…it's the middle of the day, Fergus, there can't be any stars out."

"Hmm, I hadn't thought of that but you're right."

"Perhaps we should go easy with this White Shear."

"Good idea."

Setting their drinks down the two men fell silent as they watched whatever private display the lyrium alcohol played for their mind's eye. Some time later, though the brothers were unable to decide if it had been minutes or hours, the dreamlike visions faded leaving only the friendly, warm intoxication of the alcohol behind.

Inhibitions lowered by the drink and the companionable silence that surrounded the two siblings Fergus began speaking, "Do you remember how after I met Oriana you would mock me for constantly talking about her even when I should have been doing more important things such as getting blind drunk with you?"

"I remember." Aedan answered, "And you always just smiled and accused me of jealousy."

"To which you would list the various wenches you had seduced lately and the sinful acts that you had engaged in with them."

"I may have exaggerated some of those."

"I'd expect nothing less from a fellow soldier, a friend, or a brother. All of which you are." Fergus answered, "But now it seems the situation is reversed and it is you that talks of a woman as we drink. Though I hope you will forgive me if I do not regale you with tales of seduction."

"What do you mean?" Aedan asked, concerned that this pleasant meeting would turn sour at the memory of Oriana.

"Leliana. We were not talking about her but the mention of stars brought her immediately to your mind; just like I remember happening with Oriana. Leliana is not simply another pleasing diversion, is she? You love her."

"Yes, I do."

"I'm happy for you, Aedan, she seems a wonderful woman." Fergus complimented as he gingerly worked towards his point, "Have you spoken with her about your impending marriage to Anora?"

"I have. Leliana knows I marry not for love but rather out of political necessity and she accepts that."

"It is a steep price you ask of her, Aedan. To give up her happiness for your political games when her reward will be only the scorn that attaches itself to all royal mistresses. You want her to live knowing that her desires are of secondary importance in your mind when compared to the all-consuming quest for power."

"Damn it, Fergus, what do you want me to say?" Aedan snapped, "Yes, I love Leliana but you're right, I do care for power too. I'm doing the best I can. Leliana will be my wife in all but name while whatever noblewoman I am married to, be it Anora or whoever I find after getting rid of that Mac Tir sow, will be a purely political relationship."

"I know that, Aedan, and so does Leliana but for political reasons you can't let anyone else know. Names have power and rather than being granted the name 'wife' Leliana will always be haunted by the words whore, temptress, harlot, concubine…"

"Enough!" Aedan shouted, "She is none of those things despite being a bard and I will kill any man who dares whisper those words."

"No you won't, brother, because that would be a politically idiotic move." Body slumping into his chair Aedan rubbed his face with both hands while Fergus continued, "As your mistress Leliana will have no one but you; everyone else will shun her to avoid upsetting the queen. It is your responsibility to find a way to compensate her for all the things she will lose by staying with you."

"I will, Fergus. I don't know how but I promise I will find a way."

"Now that is something I'll toast to…unless my poor, little brother has reached his limit."

Laboriously standing up Aedan stumbled over to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of reassuringly normal looking wine, "Not a chance…though I think we've both had enough lyrium visions for today."

"I'll not argue there."

* * *

"On your feet, mage. Slowly." a voice said, the words echoing behind the steel of its owner's helm.

"But ser," a tall, blonde man whined in response without bothering to turn to address the speaker, "All she has left on are those lacey little bits. Can't we wait just a few more minutes; after all it is rude to interrupt such a fine a performance."

"No."

"Please…it'll give you something to tell the rest of your repressed templar buddies."

"No." the steel encased man growled.

"Oooh, you're right! They'll want to see this for themselves. Why don't you call them in from outside where, based on past experiences, I'm sure they're waiting in case I get away from you?"

"No."

"Damn." as the other patrons tried to edge unobtrusively away from the confrontation the mage flashed a smile at the dancer who stood frozen in mid-routine. "What's your name, miss?"

"A,a-Ailanne, ser mage."

"A pretty name for a pretty woman. I'm Anders and my friend here is Ser So-and-So." slurred the mage as he reached both hands to his ear and removed a large, golden earring which he tossed to the frightened woman, "Consider this a tip from a grateful patron who'd rather a beautiful woman have it than let some sticky-fingered templar 'confiscate' it. Now, if you'll excuse me I really must be leaving."

Swaying as he moved to stand the mage reached a steadying hand out for his staff. Hearing the hiss of steel being drawn from behind him Anders quickly halted that rash action and finally turned away from the dancer to face the menacing templar. Raising his hands in a placating gesture the mage took a step away from the templar putting his chair in between the two men. Lazily hooded eyes flickering side to side with an alacrity that belied their blurred, drowsy look the intoxicated mage casually picked up his half empty mug of ale and brought it to his lips.

Gulping down the cheap ale with a grimace the mage took one more swig before letting the now empty mug clatter to the dingy tabletop. Resignedly offering his hands Anders waited as the templar sheathed his sword and took a length of cord from his belt. Eying the mage warily through the slits in his helmet the templar moved closer and reached out to bind the apostate's hands. Having wrapped the cord around the mage's wrists the templar fumbled in his bulky gauntlets as he attempted to tie a knot.

Tapping a foot impatiently at the templar's continued failure Anders bit back a smile as the other man's movements became increasingly ineffective as the toe-tapping continued. Soon afterwards the templar had reached his limit. Head tilting up from the frustrating rope towards the even more frustrating mage the templar glared at the robed man; his eyes glinting with the malice filled stare that every Circle Mage had learned since childhood to fear. Anders, however, had become quite acclimated to that glare over the course of his mischievous days as a student and his later mischievous days as a six-time escapee.

By now, on his seventh attempt, the armored man's steely glare not only failed to ruffle the blonde mage's feathers but rather gave his hawk-like eyes a target. Spewing the sour ale in his mouth into the templar's eye slits Anders chuckled as the man's gauntlets clattered ineffectually against his helm in a vain attempt to wipe the burning alcohol away from his reddening, teary eyes. Kicking the chair in front of him into the templar's legs Anders nodded with satisfaction as the man collapsed to the ground. Confident that the mage-hunter was sufficiently incapacitated and would be unable to counter a spell Anders grabbed his staff and hurriedly cast a paralysis spell on the prone templar.

Turning back to the cowering dancer Anders smiled reassuringly, "Could you kindly tell me where this establishment's door for its more…discrete customers is?"

"Cellars, behind the last wine rack." Wavering hand pointing towards the cellar stairs Ailanne breathed a sigh of relief as the mage nodded his thanks, gathered up his hindering robes, and took off as fast as his feet would carry him.

Leaping down the stairs Anders threw open the door and raced into the cellar. Spurred on by the sounds of heavy, metal clad feet pounding against the floor above him the fugitive raced down the row of wine racks as more templars charged into the brothel; Ander's spell having alerted their senses to his escape. Reaching the rack Anders shifted it aside, slipped into the concealed passageway and quickly replaced it behind him. Racing up the gradually sloping tunnel towards a faint pinhole of daylight Anders smiled at the symbol of freedom.

Coming to a halt the winded mage threw open the grate that blocked his exit onto what appeared to be Denerim's docks and stepped out of the getaway tunnel. And into a fist. Doubling over as the unexpected blow drove the wind from his lungs Anders looked up to see yet another glowering templar staring at him.

"Oh good," Anders gasped, "I was just thinking how much I missed your scintillating glares, my dear Rylock."

"Quiet, mage."

* * *

Sipping at the expensive vintage of lyrium free wine Fergus settled himself deeper into his chair, wincing as the movement sent a stab of pain through his leg. "So, what important duties is this little morning of drunkenness taking you away from?"

"Nothing really. Anora is off at some Chantry rite, Eamon is meeting with the masons who will build Alistair's Warden statue, Leliana and Zevran are no doubt lurking somewhere they shouldn't be, and I cancelled the off-duty guards' normal training session."

"No audiences to grant, petitions to read, or decrees to sign?"

"Not until the afternoon; before I canceled it I used the training session as an excuse to delay holding court."

"A wasted morning? I did not think you could afford such luxuries and still make an indelible mark on history."

"Who said I was wasting the morning?" Aedan chuckled, "It's just that I have already recited my lines and I now simply wait to see how the rest of the act unfolds. No, in fact, I expect this to be quite a productive morning."

"Productive, eh?" Fergus said, eyeing his brother, "I recognize that look on your face. It's the same one as when you were a child stealing food from Nan for your mabari. Care to tell me what's going on this time?"

"It is a bit…sensitive to discuss." Aedan demurred, "I would not have mentioned it had it not been for the drink's loosening of my tongue."

"For the Maker's sake, Aedan, I'm your brother! And a key political ally if that relation isn't enough! I know you're caught up with intrigues but if you can't trust me than who is it you can?"

"You're right, of course, and I apologize for my instinctive suspicion. I will tell you, brother, to demonstrate my contrition." Voice unconsciously lowering as he leaned towards Fergus Aedan continued, "I'm laying the ground for being crowned King."

"But Anora only agreed to you being Prince-Consort and Leader of Ferelden's Armies."

"That is exactly why the…details…of my coronation have required so much of my attention. At my upcoming wedding and coronation the chamberlain will announce me as King."

It will take a lot more than the chamberlain calling you King to make it so." Fergus warned.

Nodding Aedan smiled, "Which is why I also need the Grand Cleric, who will do the actual crowning, to agree with me and Anora herself to at least not object to my sudden elevation."

"Make a concession or two to the Chantry and the Cleric will not be a problem…but Anora? Aedan, I think it's the lyrium still talking if you expect her to agree to this."

"Oh, she won't be happy about it but I don't intend to give her a choice in the matter. Humbling nobility is not an easy task but I think I know how to go about it."

"Well, now I'm even more curious."

"You don't want to be surprised like the rest of the Landsmeet when I'm proclaimed King instead of consort?" Aedan teased before continuing, "I simply need to make myself appear strong enough that she will feel lucky that all I'm asking for is the crown."

"A dangerous bluff."

"It isn't a bluff, Fergus. Right now, Denerim is surrounded by troops who are loyal to me personally; not to the Crown and certainly not to Anora. Dwarves, Dalish, mages I saved, mercenaries I've paid…I hold the military power. With martial law in effect I, as Ferelden's military commander, am in control of the courts. Both the Bannorn and Denerim's commoners hail me as a hero while Anora is the daughter of a traitor and regicide." Chuckling Aedan added, "Even her royal guard isn't loyal to her now."

"What do you mean?"

"Using my power under martial law as commander of Ferelden's armies I made a conciliatory gesture towards Loghain's former allies by nominating Ser Cauthrien to be the Commander of the Queen's Guard because of her 'honor, love of Ferelden, and intelligence'. A suggestion Anora certainly could not reject, even if she suspected my motivations, because it would lose her the support of her father's old allies who are now relying on her for protection and continued patronage."

"I have met Ser Cauthrien briefly and all of those words describing her are true. How does appointing such a paragon of virtue to be commander make Anora's guard disloyal?"

"Cauthrien, as with many honorable people, is easy to manipulate. She values her honor…yet she abandoned Loghain to his death before the Landsmeet knowing I was the best chance to defeat the Blight. In talking with the disgraced woman since then I have discovered something. I don't know if it was a conscious decision on her part or not but Cauthrien has transferred all of her previous devotion towards Loghain to me instead."

"What! That makes no sense; she must hate you for killing Loghain."

"Think about it, it does make sense." Aedan chided, "If she hated me then Cauthrien would have to admit that she was wrong in thinking me the sole possible savior of Ferelden; an admission that would destroy her all-important justification for betraying Loghain. But, by revering me as the 'Hero of Ferelden' and serving me as she did her previous master she keeps her honor. I encouraged this loyalty by placing her in command of the guard thereby publicly giving her back her honor with the added bond of it placing her in my debt…a concept the honorable take quite seriously."

"Clever. Very cynical…but clever." Fergus said, "But couldn't she betray you and transfer her loyalty once again to someone else if she decides they are better for Ferelden than you?"

"She could. But she won't. Anora is the only person at the moment in a position to compete with me and once Anora is gone Cauthrien's role will be irrelevant."

"And Ser Cauthrien will not follow Anora? I would not be sure of that; it makes sense for Cauthrien to seek redemption by serving the daughter."

"Except that she hates Anora."

"Why would she hate Anora?"

"Because Anora reminds Cauthrien of herself. Anora also betrayed Loghain but, unlike Cauthrien, did it to remain in power rather than from any sense of an overriding duty to Ferelden. You see, Cauthrien knows how much Anora loves power. Have you heard about how I rescued Anora from Howe's estate and was captured in the process; by Ser Cauthrien, incidentally?"

"Yes."

"What few know is that Anora betrayed me there. Confronted by Ser Cauthrien while we were escaping Anora, instead of telling Cauthrien the truth, accused me of capturing her. So, Cauthrien did her duty and arrested me only to find out soon afterwards at the Landsmeet that Anora was now claiming, accurately according to the rest of the evidence, that Loghain and Howe had imprisoned her. This inconsistency revealed to Cauthrien that Anora has no honor and betrays people as is convenient to protect her own life and position."

"Exactly what Cauthrien feared she herself had done by abandoning Loghain." Fergus finished, "I understand. Cauthrien hates Anora because she sees in Anora a manifestation of what she fears is her own dishonor."

"Right, and as guard commander Cauthrien is in a position to exercise influence over the rest of the guard through both subtle, whispered words and directly by choosing the officers and soldiers who will replace the many casualties suffered during the Blight. And Cauthrien is only selecting those who are already loyal to me or who are likely to be easily swayed to my side.

"The Royal Guard is divided into the traditional three battles, I assume?"

"Yes. Cauthrien commands the centre, a Ser Mylor commands the vanguard, and a Ser Mhairi commands the rearguard. Mylor is a veteran and apparently unshakably loyal to Anora having been impressed by something she did during the Blight. Mhairi, a new officer, was promoted by Cauthrien and should fall in line with me seeing as how she apparently hates Loghain and admires Grey Wardens; one devastatingly handsome Warden in particular."

"Always the modest one, Aedan." Fergus laughed, "So you control the majority of the Queen's Guard, the rest of the army too, the courts, the Bannorn's support, and you have the people's adoration. Why not depose Anora right now?"

"If I'm seen as the aggressor I will lose most of the goodwill I accumulated over the Blight and therefore much of the support necessary to overthrow Anora. No, before my coup I must bind my allies to me with more than bonds of respect and appreciation."

"What tighter bonds can you want than those?"

"Fergus, only one as honorable as you or Ser Cauthrien can ask that question without laughing. Bonds of greed, dependence, fear…all those are stronger and it will take time for me to forge those bonds."

* * *

"Is that a new suit of armor, Rylock? It is simply ravishing on you; the cold steel a perfect complement to your sultry eyes." Anders remarked, unable to resist his favorite game of templar-baiting. Disappointed at the lack of response but determined to not let being captured ruin what had started as a good day he kept at it, "And the cut of that tabard! Very daring to show that much leg…er, greave. Whichever, it sure is shapely!"

Smirking as he heard the surrounding templars mutter darkly Ander's disappointment soon returned as Rylock spoke in an unusually calm voice, "You will not get a rise out of me today, mage."

"And why is that, O Beauty of the Broadsword?"

"Because I no longer find you as irritating as I did in the past."

"My charms are finally piercing your armor, my Petite Princess of Plate." Anders crowed as the group began climbing a hill that led from the docks into Denerim's center.

"Possibly. Or perhaps it's the knowledge that I'll finally be rid of you for good soon that makes this bearable."

"Whatever do you mean, rid of me forever? You know I'll escape from the Tower again and, as always, you will hunt me down in our dance of forbidden desire."

"Not this time, mage. This time there will be no escape."

Shrugging his arms Anders made the myriad chains that bound him clink, "Are these going to stop me? You know the second I get back to the Tower Irving will have them taken off."

"You're right, and that is exactly why I am not taking you back there this time. Finally a Reverend Mother who actually understands the threat you apostates pose has given me orders regarding what to do."

"What do you mean?" Anders demanded, the self-satisfied menace in Rylock's voice killing his jovial mood, "Is that why we're heading towards the cathedral? What's going on here? What Reverend Mother?"

"You'll soon find out."

* * *

"Oh, shit," Ser Mylor moaned as Anora's procession swung onto the broad plaza that fronted the cathedral; the whole column halting at the sight spread out before them. "Things just never go smoothly; do they, commander?"

Looking at the mass of people thronging the cathedral's piazza Ser Cauthrien was forced to agree with her subordinate's pessimistic assessment. Denerim's cathedral had always been a site of pilgrimage and therefore its courtyard was frequently filled with a malodorous crowd of road-weary devotees but this new congregation was drastically different. And much more unsettling to behold.

Rather than carrying the traditional votive candles representing Andraste's fiery sacrifice these pilgrims ringed a fiercely burning fire that had been built in the square's center. As Cauthrien and Mylor looked on in disbelief a man stepped forward from the crowd and pulled a red hot brand from the flames and, accompanied by the chanting of his compatriots, held the burning metal in his hands as the sour odor of burning flesh spread over the assembly and the chanters volume increased to drown out the penitent's screaming.

Across the square from the fire a second ritual of mortification played out before the shocked eyes of Anora and her guard. A Reverend Mother, her stately robes filthy and fraying, perched atop a makeshift pulpit of crates and upturned carts. Surrounded by an eerily silent congregation her voice shrieked loudly over the competing din of the crowd by the fire.

"Let the blade pass through the flesh"

In a sinister parody of the normal call and response format of the Chant this congregation 'responded' to the Mother's chanted verses by scourging their neighbors.

"Let my blood touch the ground"

Wielding various implements ranging from knotted ropes, to chains, to threshing flails the crowd struck fiercely at each other satisfied every time their blows drew blood from a willing target.

"Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice."

Finally breaking their silence the assemblage of tormentors and tormented gave voice to their pain. Tearing from the throats of several hundred bloodied flagellants a cry rang out commingling with the Reverend Mother's continued chanting and reaching up from the cathedral's square towards the sky; desperately trying to reach the Maker's deaf ears.

Turning at the sound of armor approaching them Cauthrien and Mylor nodded politely to the newcomer, "Ser Mhairi."

"Commander Cauthrien, Ser Mylor," Mhairi responded, giving the senior officers a salute, "What are we supposed to do about this lot?"

Regarding the continuing bloodletting in the plaza Mylor shook his head, "It's not up to us, Ser Mhairi. We do what our Queen orders, though I'd gladly just turn around and head back to the palace and away from…this…rather than force our way through."

Tearing her eyes away from the flagellants, one of whom had just slumped to the ground under the weight of his companions blows with a beatific smile on his face as the blood poured from his body and the light fled from his eyes, Cauthrien glanced at where Anora and Erlina huddled in conference together, "I expect we'll receive orders soon."

"And I don't think they're likely to be 'Let's go back to the palace where you can get off your shift early and grab some food'. Mhairi added as she pointed past the other two officers, "Look, there's even more trouble brewing."

Following Mhairi's gesture Cauthrien watched as a troop of templars entered the square from the street that led towards Denerim's docks. Dragging with them a loudly protesting mage who staggered under the weight of an excessive amount of chains that secured him the templars entered the square heedless of the unruly crowd. As the gaggle of armored men drew near the shouting Reverend Mother and her flock a worrying silence fell over the flagellants as they turned almost as one towards the templars and their prisoner.

"A mage." Mylor groaned, "Fanatical Andrastians and a mage; that will be a spark to this mob's tinder."


	8. Chapter 8: Fanaticism pt2

**A/N: Just a reminder, **_**italics**_** are memories, flashbacks, etc. I sometimes drop them in with little warning and then pop back out of them just as abruptly but pay attention to the typeface and it shouldn't be too confusing.**

** As always reviews are very welcome and greatly appreciated. To those who have bothered to review I cannot thank you enough. Your suggestions, criticisms, and enjoyment are what encourage me write this as otherwise I would quite happily let it bounce around in the chaotic confines of my mind.**

Fanaticism pt. 2

"The fools! How am I supposed to rebuild a country when my citizens are busy killing themselves?" Anora hissed, "Look at them, building bonfires for their ridiculous devotions. I'll wager they will regret that waste of fuel once winter's chill settles over Ferelden. And then who will they blame for their frostbitten toes? Me."

"Many lost everything in the Blight…" Erlina ventured before royal pique overrode her.

"Get the guard commanders over here, Erlina. I don't intend to let a mob of mindless zealots stand between me and the cathedral."

"But, my Lady, wouldn't this be the perfect excuse to not have to attend the purification ritual?"

"Of course it would. Which is exactly what that new, annoying, Orlesian Grand Cleric wants me to do. What could be more empowering for her religion than the Queen of Ferelden being summoned to repent her sins and have her vulva inspected? Only said Queen obediently responding to the summons and being turned away by a horde of smelly, religious madmen. Can you imagine her glee, Erlina? This is now an obvious challenge to my authority; a challenge I will lose if I slink away like a chastened dog." Glaring at the crowd Anora continued, "And in the social upheaval that inevitably follows war such weakness breeds ideas about challenging authority. And such ideas have a tendency to overthrow those that hold the reigns of power."

"But surely these poor, broken souls are not a threat! As bizarre as their actions are they simply seek solace from their shattered lives in the Chant of Light; they are not playing at politics."

"But whoever organized this is. As for them not being a threat…I'm sure any of the old Tevinter Magisters, if were they still alive, would be able to tell you about the Chant's potential to cause mischief." Watching the Reverend Mother's crowd suddenly ceased their flagellation as a group of templars entered the square Anora added, "Or just ask that mage if he feels threatened. Now, go get the guard officers."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Erlina responded before hurrying towards the three officers.

* * *

Glancing about as he was ushered into the square Anders cringed as the maddened stares of several thousand bloodied Andrastians turned on him. "Rylock, let's just get past them and into the cathedral as quickly as possible, okay?"

Smiling as she continued her slow, deliberate pace through the now silent crowd Rylock called out to the woman perched atop the impromptu pulpit, "Reverend Mother, as you wished I have brought the notorious apostate Anders to receive his just punishment."

"Your devotion is a light to us all in these dark times, Ser Rylock." The Reverend Mother's voice once again rising to pierce the brooding silence that hung over the assembled flagellants she resumed her shrieking recitation of the Chant of Light, "Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children."

At a signal from Rylock the templars backed away from their prisoner and filed away towards the cathedral doors leaving Anders bound with chains alone in front of the crowd. Looking to where Rylock still stood smirking at him from by the pulpit Ander's shock was quickly replaced by fear as the mob around him began muttering curses and threats towards mages in general and him in particular. Seeing the surrounding flagellants meaningfully hefting their various pain-inducing implements Anders desperately began casting a spell.

Without his staff and being unable to move his arms in the proper way the mage did his best to conjure a simple sleeping spell. Just as the fiery, twisting serpent of power coiled through his mind ready to be unleashed Anders felt an all too familiar cold, oily sensation fill the air around him. Looking over the warily approaching mob's heads Anders cursed at the sight of Rylock standing with her arms raised skywards as her lips moved in silent prayer. Tensing for what he knew was coming Anders did not have to wait long before an explosion of templar pseudo-magic drained the mana from his mind and slammed his body to the ground.

Shaking his head to clear the ringing from his ears Anders struggled to his feet as quickly as his bonds allowed. Backing away from the crowd, which was advancing in the peculiarly hesitant manner of all mobs that don't really know what to do, the mage desperately scanned the area for some hope of escape. Spying a group of armored men at a different entrance to the cathedral square, these ones bearing the royal standard and blissfully free of any religious symbols, Anders shuffled as quickly as his hobbled legs could carry him towards that source of dubious safety. The advancing zealots threatening to encircle him and cut off his route to the soldiers Anders began hopping desperately over the flagstones, his own ragged breathing and clinking chains echoing in his ears.

Smiling manically as the cautiously advancing mob fell behind him and he began nearing the royal guard Anders looked over his shoulder tossing a jaunty, mocking smile at the Reverend Mother and Ser Rylock. Seeing her face twisted into a feral snarl Anders cringed as the Reverend Mother's voice rang out with yet more verses, "They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones." A claw-like finger stabbing towards the bound mage she ordered her congregation onwards, "They shall find no rest in this world or beyond."

"I'm not a maleficar!" Anders protested to deaf ears as the mob charged at him, its wariness having vanished under the Reverend's encouragement.

* * *

"Your Majesty." The three guard officers chorused as they approached Anora.

"I need to reach the cathedral. See to it that these…people…are dispersed so I may advance with the dignity appropriate to my station."

Watching the guards shift nervously, eyes not meeting hers, Anora's expression darkened, "Is there a problem, sers?"

Stepping forward Ser Cauthrien snapped to attention and answered briskly, "I'm sorry, your Majesty, but under martial law orders must come from the military commander."

"I see. Well, if you care so much for the letter of the law that you will disobey your Queen then note that this mob violates the laws against assembly that prevail under martial law. Now, I will order you once again…clear this square."

"I must refuse, Your Majesty. Warden Cousland ordered that these zealots be allowed to congregate here unmolested so long as they break no laws."

"I see." Dismissing the insubordinate Cauthrien from her mind Anora looked at the other two officers, "Ser…"

"Mhairi, your Majesty, just promoted to guard captain."

"…Ser Mhairi, and Ser Mylor, return to your troops and tell them to get ready to go into that crowd; the parade is over."

"Yes, Majesty." Ser Mylor barked before heading back to the column of guards.

"Are you waiting for something, Ser Mhairi?" Anora demanded as she watched Mylor marshal his small command of forty soldiers.

"With respect, your Majesty, Commander Cauthrien is correct. Under martial law I must follow the Warden's orders and these fanatics are breaking no laws in assembling here."

Directing her stare back to Mhairi Anora continued, "What oath did you swear when joining my guard?"

"That I would give my life for yours and that I will faithfully defend your honor, person, and Crown." Mhairi intoned as her shoulders slumped and head bowed, no longer able to maintain eye contact with her queen.

"And you are already reneging on that promise?" Anora continued relentlessly, "It takes some years of service before most forget their oaths, does it not Ser Cauthrien."

"Ser Mhairi reneges on no oath, your Majesty, she is simply bound in this matter by an authority greater than yours; as am I." Cauthrien bristled.

"When I want the advice of a traitor regarding matters of loyalty I will ask for your input; until then remain silent." Pleased at Cauthrien's stricken expression Anora returned the full weight of her attention to Mhairi, "I respect your devotion to following the proper chain of command and, unlike with Ser Cauthrien, I have no reason to believe that you are an inherently disloyal person so I will tell you what I am going to do and trust you to make the right decision."

"Yes, your Majesty." Mhairi responded as a new commotion sounded from off to the side where the mage had been.

Glancing that way as both Cauthrien and Anora also looked towards the distraction Ser Mhairi saw the chained mage, now unescorted by templars, hobbling towards her; though it was clear the pursuing mob of flagellants would catch him long before he reached her.

"I am going to walk through this crowd and into the cathedral. Ser Mylor's men should be enough to see that done. Now, you see that mage?" Anora asked, gesturing towards where the mage had been caught and was being tied to a makeshift wooden cross. "What the mob is doing to him does break the law and, unless my dearest betrothed saw fit to make a dispensation for vigilante mage murderers, it is your duty to stop that if I so order."

"That…yes, your Majesty, that is correct." Mhairi answered.

"Good. So, Ser Mylor will escort me into the cathedral and you, Mhairi will take your command and Erlina to rescue the mage. Do not use your weapons unless absolutely necessary, I wish to create as few martyrs as possible." Once more looking towards where the victimized mage was Anora added, "Mhairi, I would hurry if you wish to reach that mage in time."

Following her liege's gaze Mhairi blanched at the sight of the zealots dragging the mage adorned cross towards the bonfire, "Of course, my Queen."

Throwing a salute Ser Mhairi turned and ran towards the waiting guardsmen shouting for her command to form up behind her. As the paltry eighty men and women of the Royal Guard's vanguard and rearguard moved off Ser Cauthrien and the main body found themselves standing in the midst of the flurry of preparation left with nothing to do but look unsure.

* * *

Anora moved confidently through the crowd as it parted before her guards. Looking at the sea of crazed people surrounding her tiny force of guards Anora wondered if, perhaps, this wasn't such a sound plan. So far Mylor's troop had only had to shove the occasional madman aside with their shields but the deeper they penetrated the mob the greater the sense of danger became. A danger that seemed to be waiting for the tiniest of sparks to burst into flame. Hearing a sudden roar from the crowd in the direction of the bonfire Anora craned her neck to peer over the mob at the source of the sound. Smiling tightly Anora watched as her carefully planned spark ignited.

Under her gaze people she had sent into danger went about their deadly serious business completely ignorant of her voyeuristic gaze. As Anora looked on a wedge of silver armored figures advanced quickly through the disordered mass of fanatics and towards the imperiled mage; shields flashing up and down as they battered their way through. The sight made Anora's mind recall the gleam that entered her father's eyes whenever he spoke of the ambush he led against the _chevaliers _at the River Dane. Her own eyes now gleaming Anora felt the crowd's confusion at the sudden onslaught turn into anger. Pushing back at the soldiers while occasional flagstones or other debris arced through the air and clashed against plate armor the mob swirled around the outnumbered royal guard in ever thickening eddies as the soldiers struggled to close in on the cross and mage.

Watching the scene before her Anora felt an alien thrill course through her body. Anora's usual excitement was a slow, suspenseful sensation drawn from attempting to negotiate an advantageous trade agreement or convincing a recalcitrant bann to vote yea or nay during a Landsmeet at her bidding. This feeling, though, was closer to arousal. Her breath quickened, a flutter began in her stomach, her legs weakened and knees shook, and it all seemed to be only leading up to something indefinably exciting that dizzied her senses.

At the tip of the wedge formation Anora could make out Ser Mhairi clearing a path with viciously efficient blows of her shield and fist smashing aside any that stood in her way. The mob, initially taken by surprise, was now beginning to push back against the advancing soldiers; though they hesitated to truly fight back against the well trained guards wearing royal livery. The fire she had prepared was smoldering but not yet burning.

Suddenly ringing out above the angry shouting the shrill voice of the troublesome Reverend Mother again called out, "Those who oppose thee shall know the wrath of heaven. The seas shall rise and devour them; the wind shall tear their nations from the face of the earth!"

Smiling grimly Anora ducked back down into the safety of her escort knowing her carefully orchestrated spark had just hit dry tinder. Turning to Ser Mylor Anora tried to speak calmly; though her voice's urgency betrayed her, "Stop your men here. Form a shield wall around the royal standard and prepare for a fight."

"Your Majesty, if we stop now we will lose momentum and it will be impossible to regain it if this rabble turns on us. I must suggest that we keep moving until we reach the safety of the cathedral, I do not have enough soldiers here to guarantee your safety otherwise."

"Have faith in me, Ser Mylor, and halt your command here." Anora shouted over the growing tumult that surrounded the small island of guardsmen.

"Yes, your Majesty." Mylor said. Grabbing the royal ensign from a nearby guardsman Mylor began issuing orders which the well-trained soldier quickly executed with parade ground precision.

Craning her neck to see over the mob Anora looked at the quickly expanding melee that surrounded the captured mage. As the ripples of violence reached her position the newly formed ring of protecting guardsmen shuddered under the weight of rioting zealots who threw themselves against the metal wall heedless of the pain that the guards' gauntleted fists and punching shields rewarded their efforts with.

Body and soul vibrating with adrenaline Anora felt the blood of her father race through her veins as the perils of battle closed in around her. Spotting a guardsman begin to draw his sword rather than simply holding the rioters at bay with shield and fist Anora called out, her voice rising above the din, "Guards, stay your blades!"

Hearing Ser Mylor shouting to be heard Anora turned to face the veteran officer as he said with a calm bespeaking of a lifetime of battles, "Your Majesty, we will not be able to hold out much longer without resorting to drawing our weapons."

"We just need to hold out until reinforcements arrive." Anora shouted back.

"What reinforcements, my Queen?" motioning towards the cathedral square's entrance and then the cathedral doors Mylor spat, "Cauthrien and her traitors have not moved to help us, Ser Mhairi's force is busy with the mage, and the templars retreated into the cathedral and I've not seen a glimpse of them since."

"Someone will come. Wave the standard to signal help and we will see who responds."

* * *

They were going to make it in time Ser Mhairi realized; the bonfire was only yards away. The thought spurring her onwards Mhairi gave a battle cry and surged forward towards the last, small knot of flagellants that stood between her and the mage. Ducking under a clumsily swung iron rod that glowed red hot Mhairi brought the edge of her shield smashing into the attacker's face; her blow sending spittle and blood flying from as the shield rim shattered his jaw. Following her momentum Mhairi continued her body's spin bringing a steel encased elbow into a second flagellant's chest. Collapsing against a pile of wood that stood ready to feed the nearby fire the man quickly regained his footing; now clutching a two-handed axe. As she gathered herself from the flurry of movement and prepared to face the now armed man Mhairi saw a flickering shape appear next to the flagellant and a thin line of red trace across the man's throat.

Frowning in confusion, her expression mirrored in the man's own surprised eyes, Mhairi watched as the fanatic's mouth gaped open and began taking enormous gulps of air. Her confusion becoming horror Mhairi watched as the thin line widened and became a mist like cloud of blood and air that sprayed into the air with every gasping breath the man took as he sunk slowly to his knees before toppling over onto the flagstones. Pulled from the shock of the unexpected death by the arrival of her fellow guardsmen who caught up with her and quickly dispatched the few remaining foes Mhairi jumped as a voice sounded next to her, "What a brave soldier you are_._ If I may make a suggestion, though, you might want to stay closer to your formation next time. Bravery works best when someone is watching your back."

"Who…the queen's handmaiden? But, but you killed him!" Mhairi gasped.

"Shh, we can't be having everyone know about this little talent of mine now can we?" the elf said as she wiped a stiletto clean, "I suggest you use this lull in the fighting to prepare your men to fight their way back out."

Nodding Mhairi issued orders and soon had her command formed into a semicircle around her with their backs to the fire. Ignoring the renewed clamor of battle as the zealots recovered from the surprise attack and threw themselves once more against the guards' shields Mhairi picked up the dead man's axe and walked over to where the mage lay next to the fire bound helplessly to the cross.

"Excellent timing, miss. Now if you would be so kind as to get these chains off me I'll be on my way." the man called out, his cheery voice at odds with the bruised, bleeding face that said it.

"Hold still, mage." Mhairi responded as she swung the axe.

Shaking off the lingering chains Anders struggled to his feet, hands fluttering ineffectually at his robes, "Ruined! Look at these blood stains, the tears. And the Wonders of Thedas was destroyed in the Blight! Where am I to get robes now?"

"Be quiet mage."

"I've been hearing that a lot lately; 'Be quiet, mage.' 'No, mage.' 'Burn for your sins, mage.'" the bedraggled blonde man muttered, his voice darkening with menace as he continued, "And I don't think I'll just stand here and take it…"

Not wanting to find herself facing an irate mage on one hand and a furious mob on the other Ser Mhairi interrupted, "I apologize, good ser, the stress of the situation made me forget my manners." seeing the man visibly collect himself Mhairi continued, "Now, if you don't mind I'd like to get out of here while we still can."

Having the grace to look embarrassed for his outburst Anders responded, "Agreed, with your permission I'll use a bit of magic to help us until we reach safety. Now, let us make haste towards the nearest exit."

"Haste, yes…nearest exit? Perhaps not." Turning at the voice Anders and Mhairi looked at Erlina who stood perched atop the wood pile. Pointing towards the cathedral, and the densest part of the mob, the elf went on, "Ser Mhairi, look. The royal standard is waving. Your Queen calls for aid."

"But the Warden ordered…"

"Why obey him? He allowed these madmen to congregate here; this disaster is his responsibility for failing to give Denerim much needed order. And now, when your rightful ruler attempts to rectify that failure, you abandon her?"

"Commander Cousland is a hero. He must have a good reason for not harassing these people..."

"Maybe, maybe not. But do you think he knew that the Queen would be at their mercy? Would whatever reason he had still stand if he knew what was happening here?"

"But my troops can't force our way through that crowd."

"You can if you draw your blades. The alternative is to condemn Her Majesty to death in disobedience of the oath you so recently took."

Interrupting the silence that fell after Erlina's words Anders piped up, "I'll gladly use my magic to help us reach the queen."

Climbing up the wood pile Mhairi looked out over the riot toward the tiny circle of her fellow guardsmen. And there, in the very center of the melee, Anora stood under the royal standard. Back straight, head held unflinchingly high, the personification of royal dignity despite her desperate situation Anora radiated authority. The royal standard held by one of Ferelden's most hardened veteran flapping frantically over her head Anora simply stood there looking directly and unwaveringly at Mhairi. The blood of ancient royalty did not flow through her veins but she grew from the same soil that had raised Dane and Calenhad. She was not a warrior-queen clad in armor smiting her foes but standing in the swirl of combat protected only by white purification robes her bravery outshone that of the warriors surrounding her.

Picking her way down the woodpile Ser Mhairi drew her sword and bellowed orders, "Soldiers of Ferelden, Remember your oaths! Draw your blades and reform behind me; our Queen calls for your aid."

* * *

Shaking his head at the offered refill Fergus spoke, "I had a word with Arl Eamon yesterday."

Setting the wine bottle down Aedan asked, "And what did the doddering, old man have to say?"

"Mock him all you want but the arl does what he thinks best for Ferelden."

"Like trying to put an unprepared, foolish bastard on the throne." Aedan groused.

"You should not speak so of the dead; especially one who died heroically."

"You never met Alistair; I promise I have said nothing he would not agree with." Aedan replied, "But enough of that…what did Eamon have to say?"

"He wanted me to urge you to speak with Anora."

"And, since you have bothered to relay this message, I assume you agree with Eamon."

"Before today you have told me of your ambitions regarding making your mark on history but never told me any details. I guess it makes sense but until hearing you discuss deposing Anora I had not thought of what changes you would need to make to see your dream fulfilled. Deposing Anora will not be an easy task and it will not happen quickly. Such an upheaval can only hurt Ferelden. No matter your intentions regarding her Anora will be your co-ruler for at least a short time and, given life's habit of not following plans, perhaps longer. For the sake of Ferelden sit down with her and work out some sort of agreement; even if it's only a temporary one.

"Please, brother, listen to my advice and Eamon's. Ferelden needs a functioning, united government. The risk of civil war resuming when you try to depose Anora is too great. You must wait for Ferelden to heal before putting it through another ordeal or our country might not survive. And, during that waiting period you will have to work with Anora rather than against her; at least publicly."

"Don't worry, Fergus, and tell Eamon to stop fretting as well next time you happen across him. I know Ferelden is bloodied and battered. A broken realm does me no good so rest assured that I will see it safely through the impending 'succession'. In fact I plan to meet with Anora before our wedding to broach the issue of me becoming King. I might as well discuss at the same time how exactly our responsibilities will be divided during our co-rule. A situation, I'm sure, both of us do not wish to last long."

"The wedding is tomorrow, how do you plan on getting everything done? Meeting with Anora, securing the Cleric's support…there's not much time left and you're spending it drinking with me."

"Actually those two problems should be taking care of themselves now." Aedan chuckled, explaining as Fergus gave an exasperated shake of his head, "Events taking place right now should secure me Chantry support and inform Anora about her lack of military strength."

"What events?" Fergus asked warily.

"I think Anora's going to have an incident with the Chantry today."

"An incident?"

Laughing Aedan nodded, "You'll hear about it soon enough."

* * *

"Commander Cauthrien, what are your orders?"

Ignoring the frantic voice Cauthrien stared across the tumultuous square at the waving royal standard. It called for help in an all too familiar way.

_"Sound…the retreat."_

_ Snapping her head around Cauthrien look at Loghain in confusion, "But…what about the king? Should we not-"_

_ "Do as I command." Loghain snarled._

_ Startled as the teyrn grabbed her arm Cauthrien looked at Loghain's face. It was the determined, confident face of a man who had already saved Ferelden once and had saved her too. He had given her purpose, he had given her honor. Jerking her arm away from his insistent grasp Cauthrien stared at her master's face with the last, desperate hope that her master would change his mind. Seeing the resolve in his dark eyes that flickered red from the beacon's reflected flames Cauthrien turned away. Loyalty. Who was she to doubt the Hero of River Dane?_

_ "Pull out! All of you, let's move!" _

"Commander Cauthrien? We have to do something!" Finally looking away from the beseeching flag Ser Cauthrien turned to the frantic soldier as he continued, "The flag, commander, it's calling for aid. What are your orders? We need orders."

"Sound…the charge."

* * *

"Really, after all that they expect barred doors to stop me?" Anora said as she stood in front of the cathedral's closed door. Surrounded by her blood spattered guards, Anora smiled as her loyal troops laughed at their queen's attempt to relieve the tension of battle. "Ser Mhairi, take some volunteers and find something to knock with. Ser Cauthrien, take an escort and bring our wounded back to Fort Drakon."

"Yes, your Majesty." Cauthrien said, bowing.

"And then report to lord Cousland. I'm sure he'll be interested in hearing of this minor disturbance. Also, while you're talking to him tell my betrothed that I would like to meet with him tonight; I feel we have much to discuss."

"As you order, your Majesty."

Watching as her soldiers spread out through the square efficiently carrying out her orders Anora turned to Erlina, "Handmaiden, I'm glad to see you came through this unharmed."

"Likewise, my Queen."

Interrupted by the sound of the cathedral's massive doors creaking open Anora looked out at the square where Mhairi and a dozen other soldiers were dragging an enormous piece of fire-hardened timber towards the cathedral. "Looks like the Grand Cleric didn't want to wait for us to knock." Raising her voice to be heard across the square, now silent save the occasional moan of the wounded Anora called out, "Ser Mhairi, stay out here with your men. Ser Mylor, follow me with your command."

Walking through the open doorway surrounded by her proud, weary guards Anora passed the silent templars who stood statue like flanking the doorway. Stepping forward from their ranks a bareheaded female, her grimy armor contrasting with the spotless shine of her comrades', addressed Anora, "Your Majesty, if you care to follow me I will escort you to the Grand Cleric."

Nodding her permission Anora examined the woman who fell in step beside her, "I recognize you. Were you not the commander of that poor mage's escort?" Not waiting for an answer Anora continued, "It's a good thing you fled when you did, the crowd turned violent quickly. There were no guarantees my soldiers would have made it to you in time to save your lives."

"And in the chaos of that melee my men might have mistaken you for enemies." Ser Mylor added from where he followed the two women through the cathedral's nave.

"That would have been an unfortunate misunderstanding." Anora agreed, "Unnecessary bloodshed is always something to be avoided."

"Sadly much blood was shed today anyways." Rylock said gravely, "Many devout worshippers were hurt or killed in the chaos of that riot."

"Ah, but that was necessary blood." Anora commented with a small, tight grin, "There is nothing unfortunate about spilling that sort of blood; wouldn't you agree Ser Mylor."

"Yes, your Majesty." Mylor growled from directly behind Rylock, "In fact, the deaths of those that threaten your person are an occasion for celebration."

"Uh, I…I will leave you here to your absolutions, your Majesty." Rylock said as the group reached the cathedral's central altar.

Keeping her smile at Mylor's none too subtle threat from showing Anora nodded her acknowledgment of the templar's retreat while looking evenly at the figure that stood in front of her. "Grand Cleric, I am here for my devotions."

"Your Majesty's constant faith is a source of strength to us all." The Cleric responded in her lilting, Orlesian accent from where she stood behind the altar, "Please kneel and I shall begin the service."

Looking heavenward, her mouth opening to begin the benedictions the Grand Cleric frowned as she heard Anora's voice continue speaking. Lowering her head to look at the interruption the Cleric saw Anora still standing and talking with the blood covered guardsman and elf that had followed her into the cathedral. Thrown off balance by this lack of decorum the Grand Cleric simply stared as the queen ignored the prelate and continued her conversation.

"Erlina, I find that my knees are no longer as resilient as they were six years ago before marrying Cailan. I fear I shall not be able to endure kneeling again on this stone floor all day long as the ceremony is performed."

"Perhaps if I found you a pillow?

"In this ruined city, Erlina, where would you find such luxuries? Even at the palace most of the bedding has been torn up for bandages. Who could possibly have such luxuries?"

"Please allow me to look, my queen."

"Thank you, my faithful handmaiden." Anora responded as Erlina hurried off towards the cathedral's wing.

"That was your first taste of action, was it not, your Majesty?" Ser Mylor asked as the Grand Cleric looked on in mounting displeasure.

"Indeed it was. Thrilling really; I had not understood why so many are captivated by battle and glory but now…now it makes sense to me why my late husband was so eager to rush off to war."

Chuckling Mylor said, "You are braver than me, Majesty. After my first battle I was shaking like a leaf, exhausted, and nauseous." Taking admiring eyes from Anora the soldier looked at the silently glowering Grand Cleric, "Of course Ferelden has always bred the strongest women; not like those simpering Orlesians. Must be something in the water."

Unable to withstand the disrespect any longer the Grand Cleric interrupted, "I apologize, your Majesty but we must begin the ceremony now if it is to be finished before the sunset."

"It will take that long? Last time this only lasted until midday."

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but because of the bloodshed you witnessed outside we must purify you of that before we can even begin preparing you for the wedding."

"You mean you cannot simply burn a larger lock of my hair this time?" Anora said.

"I, I'm afraid not. The ceremony is quite a bit more…complicated than that, your Majesty." The Grand Cleric stuttered, desperately attempting to keep her superior attitude and command of the situation.

"Oh, well then, by all means begin." Anora answered.

"Men may not be present."

"Of course, I wasn't thinking. Ser Mylor, go wait outside. Your troops must be famished; see that some food is brought to them and have Ser Mhairi bring me some as well. I find that excitement always leaves one hungry."

"As you command, your Majesty." Mylor said, smirking at the outrage that pierced the Cleric's serene façade.

Heads turning at the sound of a door opening and closing both Anora and the Grand Cleric watched as Erlina hurried towards; a pillow embroidered with the Chantry's symbol in each hand. Quickly setting the cushions in front of the altar Erlina spoke to Anora, "I hope these will be satisfactory, your Majesty. I found them in a very well appointed room connected to the cathedral's apse. It looked like a private bedroom but from the sheer amount of food, drink, and luxuries such as these pillows I must assume the room was a storehouse of sorts."

"I'm sure you're correct, Erlina." Anora said as she moved to kneel on the pillows. Looking at the Cleric she continued, "After all the Chantry's initiates swear a vow of poverty, such expensive goods couldn't be theirs. Those goods must have been collected for distribution to the Blight's victims. Isn't that right, Grand Cleric?"

Watching the prelate's jaw clench in anger as she recognized the pillows from her own chambers Anora smiled with a treacle-like sweetness, "Please, let us begin the ceremony. Perhaps it is simply being on this hallowed ground but I am suddenly conscious of this world's many sins."

**A/N: Well, thanks to a snowstorm keeping me indoors tonight I give you a very quickly finished new chapter. Review please!**


	9. Chapter 9: Tides

**A/N: **_**Italics **_**are correspondence in this chapter. Review please. **

Tides

"You might be the 'Hero of Ferelden' but I see you still can't hold your wine."

"W-Wha'dya mean."

"That isn't how a knight moves."

"That's 'cause this is a Grand Cleric."

"No it isn't.

"Yes is."

"Aedan, it's a man riding a horse, wearing armor, and holding a sword. It's a knight."

Squinting at the blurred image of the checkered board that sat between the two brothers Aedan set the knight, or Grand Cleric, back down. "Fine, then I'll move a pawn…here."

"Cheater! Pawns can't move as far as a castle and jump pieces like a knight."

"Can when inspired by my King's mangifestence."

"What?"

Wincing as his ears reported his tongue's slurred attempt at speech Aedan carefully enunciated, "My King's manifest magnificence."

"Oh, that's what you tried to say." Fergus said with all the considerable superiority an elder sibling can muster. Chuckling at Aedan's nearly pouting expression Fergus moved his queen across the board, "I might show up to court this afternoon just to watch you try functioning. Perhaps you could get an interpreter to help everyone else understand words like mangifestence. I'd offer but I'll be too busy laughing to be much help."

"I might sound drunk," Aedan muttered as he moved a knight across the board, "But I'm not playing drunk. Checkmate."

"Damn, this is why I don't play chess with you, Aedan."

"Sore loser." Aedan commented as he unsteadily stood and made his way across the room to the cupboard.

"What's that?" Fergus asked, warily watching Aedan pull out another bottle.

"Something Leliana gave me; she said it's a typical part of the bard's equipment." Aedan responded, carefully pouring a single, small glass of the greenish fluid.

"You're not going to start singing, are you? I don't think even a mysterious potion can cure tone deafness."

"Feeling funny today, aren't you? Leliana said this medicine gets rid of alcohol's effects. Bards use it so they can drink with their companions and not get drunk themselves; very useful for getting secrets."

"Well give me some of that. I don't have to hold court but I do need to go to a certain bachelor's party tonight and I'd rather not be hung over before the party even starts."

Downing the cure Aedan blinked as the room stopped spinning around him and thoughts suddenly became much more cogent. Giving Fergus a toothy, predatory smile Aedan shook his head, "Oh no, Fergus. Remember that joke about my party being held in the chantry? Well, I told you I'd get payback."

"Coward, you just don't want to be embarrassed by your brother out drinking you tonight."

"Precisely. Now, I suggest you take a nap and sleep this off because you'll have to get back on the horse by tonight."

"You're cruel, you know that right?"

His response cut off by a loud knocking on the door Aedan crossed the room and opened the door.

"Ser Cauthrien," eyes narrowing as he looked at the soldier's blood spattered armor Aedan ushered her into his quarters, "whatever is the matter?" Turning away from the grim soldier Aedan addressed his inebriated brother, "Fergus, I'm afraid business calls and our morning together is at an end. I'll see you tonight."

"I look forward to it, brother." Fergus responded as he hauled himself out of the chair. "I'll see you later."

Ignoring the chair offered by Fergus as he made his unsteady way out of the room Cauthrien stood rigidly to attention and forced herself to look at Aedan's eyes as she reported.

* * *

"The Maker is testing us all, Ser Rylock."

"We will not fail, Your Reverence."

Peering around the corner of the narthex the fanatical Reverend Mother glared at the scene around the cathedral's altar. Turning away in disgust from the sight of Queen Anora resting comfortably on a cushion and nibbling at an apple as the Grand Cleric went through the ritual the Reverend Mother hissed, "Some already have failed. We must see to it that such corruption does not spread."

"Yes, Your Reverence."

"I will arrange for you to be assigned to the palace chantry. The knight-commander of that chantry is also traditionally one of the Queen's advisors so you will be in a position to watch Her Majesty. We must keep an eye on such impiety lest its corruption spread."

"What of the maleficar I've been hunting? He escaped the faithful in the courtyard."

"You still have his phylactery?"

"Of course, Reverence."

"The mage is a small matter and I need you to watch the queen. Give the phylactery to one of your subordinates and let him deal with the maleficar."

"As you wish, Your Reverence."

"No, Ser Rylock, not as I wish but rather as The Maker wills."

Bowing the templar pulled a vial of blood from her belt, "With Andraste's grace we will cut the tumor of disbelief from Ferelden."

"Indeed we shall." The Reverend Mother answered beatifically, "For we have Andraste's approval. She herself has told me so."

* * *

Flipping through the sheaf of trade related correspondence Erlina had fetched for her, after all an entire day wasted on fanatics and rituals was an inexcusable dereliction of her duties, Anora glanced at the window. Noting the way the shadows had begun to play on the shattered stained glass that still hung in the battle damaged window frame Anora's impatience escalated as the Grand Cleric's endless, droning chanting continued. Taking a bite of her apple Anora motioned for the ever present Erlina to seal the letter she had just written to the Denerim cobbler's guild. Waiting as the elf carefully removed the vessel of melted, red wax from its improvised perch over a commandeered cluster of votive candles Anora idly scanned the cathedral's gilt ornamentation.

Her appraising survey interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps Anora turned to see Ser Mhairi coming down the center aisle bearing yet another bundle from the palace of letters to be read, missives to be signed, and reports to be considered. Shaking her head at the chantry's stubbornness Anora smirked as the little play that had by now become a well practiced production began once again. As Mhairi neared the altar a reverend mother, dressed in her stately robes and a sense of aggrievement, hurried to stand in the soldier's path. After a brief, whispered conversation complemented by increasingly aggressive body language the reverend moved aside and Ser Mhairi resumed her approach to where Anora kneeled comfortably before the altar.

Ignoring the surrounding clergy's glares as she interrupted the chant's reverent recitation with the mundane words of every-day speech Anora nodded to the soldier, "Thank you, Ser Mhairi, just set those down anywhere. This pile over here is done and ready to be taken back to the palace."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Mhairi responded, bending low and bringing her head down near to Anora's as she picked up the indicated pile of papers. Hesitating in her crouched position Mhairi's lips briefly moved before she stood and turned for the cathedral door.

Eyes flicking briefly to the stack of documents Mhairi had just dropped off Anora turned to look at the reverend mother who had obstructed the soldier's progress into the cathedral. Curiosity rising as the colorfully dressed mother was nowhere to be found Anora absentmindedly pressed her signet ring into the hot wax that now sealed the letter Erlina had placed before her. Hearing a voice from above her Anora turned back to the altar to find the Grand Cleric standing there with her seemingly constant scowl.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace, I didn't hear you. What did you say?"

"That, with your Majesty's permission," the cleric spat out, "It is time to examine you in preparation for marriage."

Glancing at the various metal instruments which were laid out on the altar where the Grand Cleric had apparently been ritually cleansing them Anora reluctantly stood up from her cushion. "Very well, but those things had better be warm this time. Go ahead, I'll wait…but I want those at body temperature before I take this robe off."

* * *

"Therefore I disobeyed your orders and moved to the Queen's aid."

"Anything else to report?"

"Queen Anora requests a meeting with you tonight." Cauthrien answered, hoping that request wasn't the final straw in Aedan's patience.

"I see." Carefully regarding the soldier standing before him Aedan got up from his chair and placed himself directly in front of Ser Cauthrien. "Your assignment was to divide the Royal Guard's loyalty."

"Yes, my lord."

"And you had succeeded. Your entire command, a full half of the guard, disobeyed the Queen in favor of my absentee orders and your commanding presence. Just as I had intended."

"Yes, my lord."

"Why, then, did you disobey me and abandon your mission?"

"I could not stand by and let the Queen die."

Circling the stationary guardswoman who kept her eyes firmly fixed forward Aedan let the silence surrounding them deepen before breaking it, "You already let one royal and one regent die as you stood by and watched; why was this different?"

Jaw and fists clenching as anger warred with shame Ser Cauthrien stood motionless in the face of Aedan's continued, predatory circling. Unrelentingly Aedan continued to heap scorn onto the soldier, "Perhaps it is guilt. After all, your inactivity is responsible for the deaths of Anora's husband and father; it makes sense that you would want to atone for that. Or maybe…"

Her restraint slipping as Aedan continued to pick at the festering memories of Ostagar and the Landsmeet Cauthrien's hand inched towards her greatsword. Smiling as he noticed the movement Aedan stopped his pacing as he came face to face with the tormented soldier. Reaching out and placing both hands on Ser Cauthrien's tense shoulders Aedan's harsh voice immediately softened, "Or maybe you are learning."

Pleased with Cauthrien's confused look Aedan continued, "At Ostagar you blindly followed your master's commands without consideration of your own honor's worth. Then at the Landsmeet when confronted with your master's blatant wrongdoing you prevaricated and helped neither Loghain nor me. You held yourself above the conflict as if that inaction could protect your honor; but avoiding all duties is not honorable. In front of the cathedral it sounds like you learned from these lessons. You ignored my orders like you should have at ignored Loghain's at Ostagar and you actively followed what your sense of honor demanded; as you failed to do at the Landsmeet."

"You want me to disobey you?" Cauthrien asked, foundering in the tidal swells of emotion Aedan's alternate contempt and praise induced.

"Of course not. I do, however, want you to _think_. Do you remember exactly what I ordered you to do today?"

"You said I should escort Anora to the cathedral and when confronted with the crowd there I was to openly defy Anora's orders to disperse the crowd."

"Exactly, where in those orders did I tell you to let the Queen die? My plan was to force Anora to see that the military backs me instead of her but she ruined that plan when she ignored all commonsense and charged into the mob with only a handful of guards. Ser Cauthrien, you did exactly what I would have ordered you to do in that unexpected situation."

"But you're going to depose Anora; all the nobles are talking about the upcoming power struggle. Wasn't that a perfect opportunity to let Queen Anora die and avoid the dangers of a messy succession?"

"I am not yet King; at the moment I am simply Ferelden's last surviving Warden and have no claim to the throne. If Anora was to die now before I have established my claim the banns would see an opportunity to reject me in favor of a weak ruler who they could control. And defeating all of them would be very messy indeed."

Guiding Cauthrien towards the chair she had previously rejected Aedan saw her seated before pulling his own chair around to face her. Sitting down Aedan resumed speaking while keeping his eyes carefully averted from Cauthrien's, "I'm sorry for putting you in that all too familiar position this morning of being caught between honor and orders. I should not have abused your loyalty so callously by assigning you such an underhanded assignment as subverting the Royal Guard."

Finally making a visible effort to meet the soldier's confused, brown eyes Aedan raised his green gaze to her face. "I'm afraid such decisions are becoming all too common in my new position. I have a confession to make, Ser Cauthrien…if you'll hear it."

Captured by his sorrowful, honest eyes Cauthrien could only nod her agreement as Aedan continued, "I am not an honorable man. I know this because I was raised to be honorable and, until the end of the Blight, I always lived honorably. Since then, however, I have manipulated my brother, planned my betrothed's downfall, ordered several murders…and that is just the beginning. These actions have caused me to spend a lot of time contemplating what makes me different from Loghain and I have come up with an uncomfortable answer: a leader owes more to duty than he does to honor."

Its customary strength seeping back into his voice Aedan sat straighter as he continued, "I believe a king's role is not just to lead a country but to accept an entire country's sins. Loghain took no responsibility for his dishonorable actions. He blamed Ostagar on Cailan's arrogance, Anora's imprisonment on Howe, the Alienage's slavery on me costing his treasury money …none of it was his responsibility. I, however, take responsibility for Anora almost dying today, the murdered's blood is on my hands rather than those of my assassin…had you followed my orders today and Anora had died both her blood and your lost honor would also be on my hands. In accepting this burden I have the same sort of honor through duty that a whore supporting her out of wedlock child has. My actions, my way of life is morally repugnant but the reasons for it are honorable because they fulfill my duty. I plan, order, and execute terrible things but I do it so my followers and the country as a whole can survive.

"Before the Landsmeet you thought me Ferelden's best chance to survive the Blight and you were correct. Tell me, Ser Cauthrien, do you still believe me to be Ferelden's best chance to survive whatever dangers the future will doubtlessly produce; or are squabbling banns and Anora's bookkeeping Ferelden's future?"

Frozen by his intense stare and words Cauthrien swallowed hard as she tried to rapidly sort through all that he had said. "Our nation is weak from the Blight and others will try to take advantage of that. My lord, I stand by my belief that you will see us through such challenges when nobody else can."

"Thank you, Ser Cauthrien, Commander of the King's Wolves."

"What?"

"Your utility as the Queen's Guard captain is over so I've decided to transfer you to my own guard instead."

"I didn't know you had a guard, my lord."

"I've been keeping it as a surprise for the coronation. I would like you to command it both for your experience and martial abilities but also because I need someone of your unwavering integrity near me to help keep me from loosing my way in the dark days that doubtlessly lie ahead."

"It is an honor, my lord. I do not know if your faith in me is well placed but I would rather die than prove faithless."

"I have no doubt of that, Ser Cauthrien and it is exactly why I have selected you." Standing Aedan smiled as he opened the door to dismiss the woman, "Well, that and because I designed the uniforms with you in mind. If nothing else at least I can guarantee that you'll look amazing in the new uniform."

Too confused by the entire conversation to absorb Aedan's last statement Cauthrien made it out of the Warden's chambers before a light blush crept across her normally composed features.

Standing stock still until he heard Cauthrien's footsteps fade away Aedan suddenly burst into motion with an inarticulate shout. Grabbing an empty bottle left behind by Fergus Aedan threw it at the stone wall and watched it shatter sending glass flying throughout most of the room. Unsatisfied he picked up one of the solid, oaken chairs and swung it in a half-circle before sending it flying out the open window. Panting at the sudden exertion Aedan winced at the sudden commotion caused in the palace grounds by an enormous armchair plummeting into the garden's hedges.

Collecting himself Aedan muttered as he straightened his clothing, "Not a total loss. At least I managed to keep Cauthrien on her leash."

Opening the door to find several nervous looking guards Aedan forced a sheepish grin onto his face, "Sorry lads, nothing to worry about. I just found out I have to miss my own bachelor party because of some 'urgent business'. My last night of freedom and I can't even spend it getting blind drunk and waking up next to a complete stranger." Seeing the relieved guards relax and chuckle at this Aedan shook his head sadly, "Could one of you please find my brother and give him the bad news?"

"Right away, my lord."

Giving one last, rueful smile to hide his outburst Aedan nodded his thanks to the eager guardsman and headed down the hallway.

* * *

Thankful for the carriage's presence, no matter how bouncy the city's ill kept cobblestones rendered its ride, Anora glance about surreptitiously out of habit before opening the letter Ser Mhairi had said was given to her in the cathedral by the vanishing reverend mother.

_Your Majesty,_

_ I represent a group of brothers and sisters in Andraste's service who are concerned about the state of Ferelden's Chantry. The Chantry's excessive display of wealth, increasing political and military power, and lack of charitable efforts has become more pronounced in the last several years and must be addressed. These issues are prevalent throughout Andrastian Thedas but are most obvious in Ferelden due to the upheaval and desolation caused by the Blight. Your animosity towards these aspects of Chantry behavior are well known to those concerned with the Chantry's future and are the reasons that I have contacted you. It is my belief, and that of my compatriots, that with our help you may go some way to restoring the Ferelden Chantry to a form Andraste herself would recognize as the holy institution it was intended to be._

_ As a token of our faith in your devotion to restoring the Chantry to its proper role in Thedas I will give you a sample of the help you can expect from me and my compatriots. Like many others the Chantries in Kilmoore, Ceidhwyn, Lothering, and Bransford were established on grants of land given out illegally by the Orlesian occupation. After Ferelden's independence the Chantry agreed to compensate the victims of the illegal sales whenever possible. These four parishes, all in the diocese of Grand Cleric Theochoris II, never made any remuneration while within a week of the announcement promising compensation four local, dispossessed freeholders went missing. Documents can be found in the Denerim Cathedral archives, the chantries themselves, and their respective bann's archives._

_Andraste's faithful servant,_

_ Reverend Mother 'D'_

Slipping the note into her bodice Anora leaned back into the plush seat smiling. Eyes closed Anora spoke to the carriage's other occupant, "First earning my guard's loyalty, then having a chance to catch up on paperwork, and now finding an unexpected chink in the Chantry's armor. Perhaps I ought to devote a few more days at prayer if they're all this productive. What do you think, Erlina?"

"I think, my lady, that you are forgetting you spent at most ten minutes today in prayer."

"Well then I suppose just being in the chantry is enough to earn the Maker's reward."

"I guess so, my lady. Perhaps you should hold your meeting tonight with the Warden in the chantry; you could sure use continued good luck for that."

Eyes opening as she leaned forward from her comfortable recline Anora glared at Erlina, "Thank you so much for spoiling my good mood."

"Any time, my lady."

* * *

"Fergus! Why are you still here? My agents who were supposed to be looking out for you two sodden fools have been frantically searching every one of Denerim's surviving tavern for you and Aedan."

Turning to face the bard Fergus gave a snort, "The party was cancelled."

"Why?"

"Apparently something 'urgent' came up. He didn't even tell me himself; sent some annoying guardsman up here to do it instead."

Poking her head back into the hallway Leliana whispered to an unseen person before entering Fergus' room and settling herself on the couch next to the still drunk Fergus. "Have you been drinking because of this?"

"No, me and Aedan got drunk to celebrate my decision to become Teyrn of Highever."

"Oh, that's wonderful, Fergus! I'm so happy for you." Leliana exclaimed, her infectious happiness somewhat alleviating Fergus' alcohol heightened irritation.

"Thanks, Leliana."

"But doesn't Aedan have court this afternoon? Is he doing that as drunk as you are?"

"No, that son of a…"

"He used my potion but didn't give you any, right?" Leliana finished.

"Yeah."

"I would punish him for that, Fergus, but I'm afraid with his marriage withholding sex might not be too useful anymore."

Noting the sudden evaporation of Leliana's usual joyful demeanor Fergus shifted awkwardly, "He loves you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I know." Placing a reassuring hand on Fergus' arm Leliana continued, a brittle brightness edging her voice, "And he loves you too.

"I know."

As a companionable silence fell over the pair Leliana was just about to leave when Fergus spoke, "I just don't understand why he canceled the bachelor's party. I wish I knew what was so important to make him run off like this."

"It is doubtlessly something relating to his plots. Aedan is both a very practical man who seems frustratingly capable of making many decisions without using his emotions and a man capable of neglecting his own immediate gratification with an eye to the future. I'm sure that whatever he's up to is not as enjoyable as your party would have been but he for some reason deems it more important in the long run."

"That doesn't sound like the little brother I knew." Fergus grumbled.

"That's because he isn't that little brother. He _is_ the 'Hero of Ferelden'; that is not some role he plays when he feels like it but it is actually who he has become. Believe me, I know exactly how disappointed you feel right now, if not more so."

"What do you mean?"

"Right before the Battle of Denerim when we were gathering the armies at Redcliffe Aedan did something very similar to this to me." Seeing Fergus' curious expression Leliana explained, "We were going to spend one last night in peace before marching to a very uncertain future but one that was certainly very bloody. That night Aedan was up late having talked to Alistair and an Orlesian Warden named Riordan. Once their secret Warden meeting was over I found Aedan pacing up and down the castle's halls deep in thought. His mind was filled with thoughts of battle, strategy, plans…Maker knows what other weighty matters."

"Well yes, that makes sense."

"Perhaps it does, but my mind was on much less lofty ideas. It was likely the last night we would have together and I wanted to share my love with him for a final time." Smiling sadly at the memory Leliana went on, "Aedan, however, upon hearing my suggestion told me to get some sleep and proclaimed that he was going to do the same himself. Without explaining anything he walked me in silence to the room I shared with Wynne, told the two of us to make sure we were well rested by tomorrow, bid us a goodnight, and then left. Had the battle gone differently my last night would have been listening to that old mage snore as I tried to fall asleep without my love's familiar shape and warmth pressed against my skin."

Emerging from the memory Leliana looked at Fergus' blank face before pulling out a bottle of familiar, green liquid, "Maker's sake, Fergus, here's my potion. Sober up so I can talk to someone intelligent!"

Downing the potion Fergus blinked a few times before speaking, "That stuff is amazing. Thank you, Leliana."

"Don't mention it. Now, do I have someone capable of thinking to talk with?"

"As capable as I ever am."

"Then that will have to do." Leliana laughed, "Now, what I was trying to tell you is that Aedan's refusal to spend one last night with me was devastating…until we killed the Archdemon. Now we have spent many wonderful nights together that I will always remember and, Maker willing, we will have many more chances. Aedan's ignoring my emotional desire and refusing immediate gratification made this future possible. If I had my way both of us would have entered battle sleep deprived and perhaps we would have been killed thereby robbing us of all our time together since that one night he wouldn't sleep with me."

"So you're saying that Aedan missing his own bachelor party might lead to many more nights of drunkenness with my brother in the future."

"Um, no. Not exactly my point. Close, Fergus, but not quite."

"I'm just pointing out that unless you're going to be making a lot more of this potion the hangovers that future holds make it more a curse than a blessing." Fergus said, a grin splitting his face.

"I think I like you more drunk and depressed." Leliana said, glaring at the smiling Cousland, "You were far better at holding a serious conversation."

**A/N: Okay, almost done with the wedding's lead up. Next chapter will have Aedan and Anora's little talk, the coronation and wedding, and maybe even the wedding night.**


End file.
